


Waiting For The Night

by sovietcoffee (2891)



Category: Chernobyl (TV 2019)
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, Awkward Crush, Blow Jobs, Blow Jobs in a Car, Body Dysphoria, Broken Hearts, Bullying, Camping, Canon Rewrite, Contraband, Daddy Issues, Drinking, Drinking Games, Drunken Flirting, Feelings Realization, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, Implied Past Abuse, Internalized Homophobia, Late Night Conversations, Late at Night, M/M, Making Out, Masturbation in Bathroom, Mutual Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Other, Panic Attacks, Partying, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pornography, Road Trips, Slice of Life, Stolyarchuk is a perv, Teenage Crush, Weight Issues, Wet Dream, Workplace Relationship, switching POVs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:41:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 45,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24147547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2891/pseuds/sovietcoffee
Summary: The (alternate) story of Toptunov and Akimov at Chernobyl Reactor 4 - What might have been, what could have been.Formerly the series "Waiting For The Night", now re-edited and reuploaded by popular demand in chapters as one single, multi-chapter fic. Chapters are named after their old stand-alone fic titles.
Relationships: Aleksandr Akimov/Leonid Toptunov
Comments: 16
Kudos: 44





	1. Nighttime Humming

**Author's Note:**

> re-edited and reuploaded by popular demand :) Now in chapters as one single, multi-chapter fic. Chapters are named after their old stand-alone fic titles.

Shame filled him as vomit exited him, the migraine dissipating a bit as it did. He slumped to the side, still hugging the toilet, feeling a bit of warmth come back to his face, a mixture of relief and embarrassment. Puking on his first week on the job! He was such a baby. 

He had been truly elated to have been granted this position, feeling so proud and acknowledged despite being so young. Yet now he felt like an imposter. Surely, they’d made a mistake promoting him. They’ll soon see he was still green, wet behind the ears. They’ll realize he’s completely inadequate and relieve him from his post at once. A burning, stinging sensation then filled his eyes, salty droplets sliding down his face. Wonderful. He felt like a child and how he was behaving like one. 

He grabbed some toilet paper and tried his best to dry his eyes and blow his nose, trying to erase all evidence of his emotional breakdown. Finally, he flushed away the remains of his shame and dinner down the drain, stood up and walked out of the stall to splash some cold water on his face. After studying his reflection a while, practicing a neutral expression that would not give away the rapid unraveling inside him, Leonid Toptuvov walked out of the bathroom of Reactor No. 4’s control room quarters, deciding he’d attribute the redness of his eyes to night shift fatigue, should anyone ask.

He went back to his seat, and to the large, thick tome of the manual he had been studying before falling suddenly ill. There was so much to know and digest about the reactor and his new job. He had been trying to cram in between shifts and a bit at home whenever he could, but there was just too much to learn and too little time. He didn’t want to seem incompetent at work so he tried to get most of his reading done when he was family certain he would be relatively alone, such as tonight. It was a quiet night. Most of his colleagues were doing their usual rounds, and barely an echo of footsteps could be heard down the halls. Khodemchuk had been unusually pleasant today, not giving him too much grief about his weight or lack of manly attributes (such as bodily hair), and Stolyarchuk was minding himself nicely, flipping through a nude girls magazine whenever he’d have a moment of leisure (and thought Leonid wasn’t looking). 

Therefore, he had been left to himself for most of the evening, for which he was rather grateful. Sighing, he tried to focus his eyes, swollen from crying, on the technical text when a door swung open, rather loudly. Leonid jolted right out of the seat, it startled even Stolyarchuk, who dropped his sexy entertainment inadvertently. A voice addressed Leonid from behind. 

“Don’t worry. I’m not Comrade Dyatlov. It’s just me, Akimov,” said the man behind him. 

Leonid turned around, nervous. Stolyarchuk hastily picked up his magazine, avoiding Akimov’ gaze, hoping the supervisor hadn’t noticed. 

“Everything alright, comrade?” Akimov asked Boris, arching a brow. 

“Y-yes. Yes. I, uh- I just need to use the bathroom. I shall be back shortly,” Stolyarchuk answered, swallowing hard, and strode out the room, nearly stumbling over his shoes. Leonid couldn’t help stifle a small snicker. 

It made Akimov shift his focus onto him. “What’s so funny?” 

Leonid felt cold sweat pool under his white shirt and hat. He didn’t know what to answer to his immediate supervisor. He didn’t know him very well, so he found it difficult to gauge whether he’d be a man with a sense of humour or not. Up till now, all he’d heard of Aleksandr Akimov is that he was a brilliant engineer, hardworking and honest. They hadn’t crossed words much outside of work matters, however, he had been the one that gave Leonid the manual to study, the very one he had been trying to get through all evening. In fact, it had been he who had arranged for Toptunov to have extra short breaks throughout his shift to study it and get up to speed with everything. Leonid decided to trust his instinct about the man and share.

  
  


“It’s just... that Borja has been acting weird all night because he’d been reading a sexy magazine. It’s funny to see him so flustered. He thought you were Comrade Dyatlov,” Leonid offers. 

He can’t quite see Akimov’s eyes behind his glasses, so the expression forming in the man’s face is impossible to read. Perhaps he was too quick to judge. Akimov is certainly a professional. He shouldn’t have been so casual. He will definitely get reprimanded for his carelessness. Good lord, word may even reach Dyatlov! He shuddered at the thought.

“Well it’s good then, that I wasn’t. Can you imagine what Comrade Dyatlov would do if he found us looking at porn while on the job? I might as well jump in the feed water and get it over with,” Akimov replies, heartily and with a smile. He starts to laugh and soon Leonid joins him.  _ Oh thank god!  _ Leonid thinks.  _ He’s not a tyrant. _

  
  


“Yes. Most definitely,” Toptunov replies, nervously and carefully. “Thank you for understanding, Comrade Akimov.”

“Sasha,” the mustached, glass-wearing man with a warm smile urges. “Just call me Sasha. It’s fine.”

“Yes sir,” replies Toptunov, smiling back and a little too eagerly. “I mean- Sasha.”

“Here,” Sasha says, handing him a cup that had been in his hands the whole time, but that Toptunov had failed to notice until now. It had steamy, fragrant coffee in it. 

“I thought you could use it. I saw you walk out of the bathroom looking, well... less than great, so I thought this might help. I went down to the kitchenette to make it myself. I hope it’s to your liking.”

Toptunov grabbed the cup from Akimov’s hands like it was an ancient relic; carefully and slowly. “I can’t- I mean, you needn’t- I mean, that’s really- I mean, thank you...”

He couldn’t seem to make up his mind as to what to say to the unexpected gesture. Akimov simply smiled and squeezed his shoulder. 

“It’s fine, Leonid. We’ve got a lot of long nights ahead of us. I just hope this will help,” he reassures him a warm look. Leonid feels it wash over him, like an ocean wave. At first, he believes the sensation to be exhaustion and sleep setting in, but he didn’t feel particularly sleepy. He was more alert, in fact. He then thinks it’s perhaps the coffee, but he hasn’t even had a sip yet. Its really the simple reaction to Akimov’s smile; relaxing and energizing at the same time. Leonid realises that, for the first time since he started working at Chernobyl, he feels safe. 

Akimov turns his attention to the panel. “Make sure the energy output stays at that level until morning. I have some things I need to go over. I’ll be back in a while. When I do, let me know if you have any questions about the manual, we’ll go over it together.”

Leonid smiles and nods. “Yes.” He swallows before adding, “Sasha.”

Akimov nods back and turns around to leave, closing the door behind him quietly. Toptunov is left to himself to think in peace at last; a cup of coffee warm in his hands, and heat rising to his chest. 

“Together,” he whispers to himself. His voice too soft and the words get lost in the background of the nighttime humming of the reactor; his companion for the rest of the evening... at least until Stolyarchuk returns from the toilet. 

>>


	2. Shrouded In Light

He was still rubbing off sleep from his eyes when he walked in the dressing room. Fresh from a long nap after dinner so he was more alert tonight. He had been doing nothing for weeks and weeks but just studying the manuals and memorising all the safety protocols and regulations of the plant, and frankly, his brain was just fried. However, late night burning of the proverbial midnight oil had also meant many evenings reviewing one on one with his supervisor. It had made the entire ordeal strangely enjoyable. He wondered if he had a masochistic streak. 

  
  


He absentmindedly considered the strangeness of the thought as he began unbuttoning his shirt. His thin, nervous fingers were clumsy and aching and chilled to the bone by the typical Ukrainian winter that refused to give way, even as spring began to edge in on the calendar. His eyes roamed across the room, searching. He wasn’t there...

  
  


_ Why am I looking… _

  
  


Wondering whether he was too early (or too late), he found himself rushing. An eruption of laughter crashed in on him and interrupted his worried ruminations. Co-workers filed into the room in a mess of voices, laughs, coughs, sneezes and puffs of smoke. 

  
  


“Ah, Toptunov is here, lads! Mr. Lady-killer!”

“Kills them from fright at the sight!”

  
  


Leonid sighed, rubbing his temples. He truly hoped the work evening would be a quiet, boring one. Frowning, he thought about how they should have gotten over the novelty of him by now. He’d been at the plant for almost 2 months, after all. HE obviously underestimated Yuvchenko’s ability to stretch out the life of a running joke. 

  
  


“You should really take up boxing, Lenya. Build up some muscle. That poor attempt at a moustache isn’t gonna bring the ladies running.”

Yuvchenko threw a thick arm around his thin shoulders and pointed towards Stolyarchuk. “Look at that stud over there. That moustache is the stuff of legends.” 

  
  


He glanced over at Boris, completely unaware of the compliment hurled his way and fumbling with the zipper of his slacks. He dressed while stoically ignored the ruckus, though sporting a frown. Toptunov liked him, actually. He was one of the few who were immediately helpful, answering his many questions without an air of condescension, no matter how trivial. He and Leonid had even been to breakfast together several times; Borja foregoing the first bus out and sleep in favour of helping Leonid catch up on work technicalities.

  
  


“Just leave him alone, guys, “Boris interceded on his behalf. “You are all jealous because he’s smarter than any of you and actually studies for the safety exams.” 

  
  


Toptunov shot him a surprised glance, and a look that said ‘thank you.’ Stolyarchuk just nodded back with a small smile. Nonetheless, Stolyarchuk had never been one to enjoy locker room banter, so he was out quickly, leaving Leonid again at the mercy of the pack. Toptunov exhaled, hoping it would ease up now that his friend had talked some sense into the lot, but Yuvchenko was simply relentless that night. 

  
  


“Lenya, I have a good tonic that will help you grow those whiskers you call a moustache much,  _ much _ faster….”

  
  


With a quick turn of the heel, Leonid left the locker room halfway inside uniform and out of his street clothes. The door slammed loudly behind him. Startled, he dropped the bundle of his clothes and uniform on the floor. He didn’t mean to do it, but his body had moved much faster and more violently than he’d expected. He squinted, adjusting his eyes to the dimly lit hallway, trying to collect himself. Laughter erupted from the room closed behind him and it jerked him back to reality. He heard Yuvchenko, asking in a faux innocent voice what he could have possibly done wrong. 

  
  


A strong, sharp pain pierced his chest, and suddenly, breathing became an extremely hard thing to do.  _ Could it be asthma? _ he fussed. He could feel his entire body convulsing, yet paralyzed. Cold chills ran through him, but it was not the chill of winter nor the hallway. It was fear.

  
  


_ No, not here… _

  
  


His eyes searched his surroundings again. There was a door at the end of the corridor. Bathrooms. Quickly picking up the clothes, he unglued his feet from the floor and forced himself to get away, quickly, far from the voices. He carried his white uniform in a big wrinkled ball between his arms.

  
  


His breath evened out by the time he reached the door to the bathrooms. He threw himself at it, exhaling long and deep. Shifting the clothes in his arms, he peered his hand from under the bundle and turned the handle. The door gave way and he entered.

  
  


“Occupied!” A familiar voice called out from within. It startled Leonid into dropping his clothes a second time. His eyes widened, taking in the light and adjusting the focus, and then he saw.

  
  


Aleksandr Akimov.

Standing in front of him.

Completely naked.

  
  


He’d later tell himself it was just the shock, but his gaze lingered on Akimov’s body far longer than could be attributed to surprise. Manners instructed he should look away, but another, more instinctual part of him memorized as much as possible in that split of a second. Sasha’s neck. Sasha’s shoulders. Sasha’s legs. Sasha’s chest. Lower…

  
  


_ Why am I looking… _

  
  


“Sasha!” He cries out, finally finding his voice. Quickly, he turned away, redness catching up to his face. “I am so sorry, I-I d-didn’t know someone else was here!” 

Leonid squatted, his back to Akimov, and picked up his clothes from the floor. He stood like that, as still as he could, as if immobility could also grant him invisibility.

  
  


“Leonid,” Akimov’s voice was wavering, brimming with fear. “Wha-what are you doing here?”

“I was looking for a quiet place to change. I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were here, and I didn’t see you in the dressing room and-”

  
  


“Oh! I-I, well I too wanted somewhere private to change because-”

  
  


“The guys were being especially annoying today and-”

  
  


“I’m not exactly comfortable around them so-”

  
  


Leonid turned around, only to lock eyes again with Akimov. Akimov just stood there, hands on the waist of his white trousers, pulling them up, but he had no shirt or shoes on. No socks, even. Leonid could see his chest (not as hairy as he thought) rise and fall rapidly. Akimov looked…scared? 

It was so strange… Comrade Akimov was his supervisor; a brilliant man and an easygoing mentor. Looked up to by more than just Toptunov. He had a spotless reputation amongst the entire plant complex. 

  
  


… and he was shivering like a scared mouse. Chest rising and falling rapidly in shallow, labored breaths.

  
  


_ Scared, like me,  _ he thought. 

  
  


Leonid shook his head, grounding himself to the present. What does one say in such a situation? 

“I’ll… just get out of here. Sorry I bothered you.” The first thing that popped into his head, he supposed.

  
  


“No, it’s OK. Leonid. Stay.”

  
  


Sasha’s voice came through in a soft breath. It was so quiet that Leonid wondered if he’d heard correctly. He looed at Akimov, confused. It was dark, but he could swear Sasha’s cheeks were slightly flushed.

  
  


“I mean, you can stay and change here, if you want.” Sasha spoke with eyes downcast. “If those guys are bothering you so, I’m sure you’d rather not go back.”

  
  


“Are you sure, Sasha?”

  
  


“Yes. I mean, if you feel like it.” 

  
  


Sasha fastened his belt and began to put his socks on. 

  
  


“It’s fine with me,” he finalises.

  
  


Leonid looked around the room, still too put on guard by the entire situation to think coherently. He peeked over at Akimov, reading the air, trying to figure out whether the invitation was genuine or just an empty courtesy, but the older man continued dressing in front of him, seemingly unperturbed. 

Toptunov knew the best course of action would be to leave anyway and find a different place to change in, but he didn’t feel like choosing that option. He felt like staying exactly right where he was. 

  
  


So he did. 

  
  


“Alright then.”

  
  


They dressed in silence. Leonid beside Sasha, careful to leave appropriate space between them. Leonid began to undo his shirt. His fingers, no longer numb, easily undid the buttons and he shrugged out of the shirt, letting it fall noiselessly to the floor. Next he moved on to his trousers, unzipping and pulling them off, remaining at last only in his underwear. He was about to bend over to remove his socks when he felt a tingling at the nape, the fine hair there standing up. He scratched at it and turned to check on Sasha, catching him staring. 

  
  


_ Why is he looking… _

  
  


“I didn’t mean to-”

  
  


“It’s OK,” Leonid quickly interjected, guessing the reason. “I know, I know… I have weight issues. I’m too skinny and the guys are always giving me a hard time about it.”

  
  


“Lenya, I apologise. That wasn’t my intention.” Sasha offered, remorseful.

  
  


“No, really, I know.” Leonid placed a hand on Sasha’s shoulder, and then wondered why he did. He then removed it. The sensation of Sasha’s warm skin lingered on his fingertips.

  
  


Sasha cleared his throat, but mostly he wanted to clear the air, thick with a kind of tension. Akimov buttoned up his shirt and smock with deliberation, not really understanding the reason behind his languid pace. A need to make Lenya feel at ease overpowered him.

  
  


“I… have weight issues myself.”

  
  


“Oh?”

  
  


“I know… well, the other guys are in good shape… and I am not. I know I am, well, overweight.”

  
  


Leonid couldn’t help but blink several times in surprise. “You’re not. Have you seen Yuvchenko?”

  
  


Leonid’s jibe at their loud and large co-worker pulled an honest chuckle out of Sasha. “I suppose you’re right. The others don’t seem to mind, though. Perhaps it’s his personality. Perhaps it’s because I’m the supervisor. It’s pretty common to pick on the guy in charge.”

  
  


“See, I don’t think it’s because of that, “ offered Leonid, edging closer to Akimov in support.

  
  


“Why then?” Sasha inquired, edging closer to Leonid in curiosity. 

  
  


Leonid gave it a thought. “I think it’s because he is kind of… well, kind of intimidating. Nobody wants to have a go at him. He’s not a bad guy Just takes it too far with the jokes.”

  
  


Akimov shrugged. “I suppose I’m not.”

  
  


“Not what?”

  
  


“Intimidating.”

  
  


Leonid looked at him. Sasha’s eyes seemed focused on something far away, that only he could see. Leonid moved his body closer so his shoulder could nudge Sasha’s, to bring him back from wherever he had gone to. 

  
  


“Well… that’s a good thing.” Leonid told him. “It’s what I like most about you.”

  
  


_ Nudge _ .

  
  


_ That’s not… it came out… _

  
  


There was a small window at the top of the far wall, above the vent, through which soft, pale light filtered in. It landed on Sasha’s hand, and Leonid’s hand which was right next to it. Their eyes follow the source back to the window and fall upon a bone-white full moon, hanging high in the darkness, marking the lateness of the hour. It was suddenly so very quiet; not a sound reached them from outside or within. Leonid searched Sasha’s eyes, and Sasha Leonid’s. Their gazes met. 

  
  


_ Why are we staring… _

  
  


Sasha cleared his throat again, breaking something intangible, and fragile. He puts on his hat and extended a hand over Leonid’s shoulder, a gesture to usher him along. “We should go, we are likely late.”

  
  


Leonid also put on his hat. “Yes, of course.”

  
  


They were ready to walk out, but Lenya stopped before the door. He felt compelled to say something before they stepped into their roles again, for then it would feel out of place, but not then.

  
  


“By the way, Sasha… I don’t think there’s anything wrong… with your weight. I mean, you look… good.”

  
  


He couldn’t believe his own ears.  _ Did I just tell him he’s… attractive? _

  
  


Sasha smiled. Genuinely. “Nothing wrong with yours either, Lenya.”

  
  


“You look good too.” 

  
  


Sasha didn’t look away this time when he smiled. Leonid could easily see the greenish-blue of his eyes as they crinkled. Leonid felt as if the man before him was placing those words inside his heart with his own hands.

  
  


Akimov pushed his body around Leonid (so close) and opened the door. “We’re on. I’ll see you in the control room, Lenya.”

  
  


Leonid nodded. They walked out in silence, heading each towards their stations. As they parted, Leonid thought to himself that, honestly, there was nothing wrong with Sasha Akimov’s body at all. He liked all of it. 

  
  


_ Oh _ .

  
  


That’s why he was looking.

  
  


>>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone continues to enjoy this :) Feel free to leave thoughts in the comments 💛


	3. Song About A Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song lyrics in brackets and italics + Cyrillic  
> // lyrics //

Days blend into weeks, which blend into months and at some point, time flows steady like a river of days, nights, and days again. The sun sets, the bus comes, the men file into the showers. They dress, they check dials, they push buttons as nights drag on along with the droning of beeps and the flickering of fluorescent lights on ceilings, halls and panels. The soft hum of the reactor in the background of their lives a reminder of the extraordinary within the mundane humdrum of their existence. Minutes roll into nothingness and all’s right with the world.

Tired feet, sleepy smiles; that is all night shift supervisor Aleksandr Akimov saw around him these days when he wandered the halls of reactor no.4 of the Chernobyl Nuclear Power Plant. Though smooth sailing should truly be considered a blessing, he can’t help but feel for his comrades. They’ve had a very long stretch of uneventful days, not just at the plant, but within their own lives. No one’s gotten married recently, or had a baby, or found a new girlfriend to boast about. Locker room banter had been reduced to a few mentions here and there of sport scores and where the best fishing spots were around this time of year. No one’s car has broken down and no one’s been sick. 

A loud yawn from across the room pried his weary eyes from the manual he had been reading. It’s Boris Stolyarchuk. The tall, lanky man was leaning tiredly against his chair at the center panel of the feedwater pumps control, glasses in his right hand and fingers of the left rubbing his eyes furiously. Akimov glanced over at Igor Kirschenbaum, who was writing something down on a notebook. Before he could feel impressed at his focus though, he noticed the young man’s pencil moving around the page in circles. Oh, he’s drawing.

SIUR engineer Leonid Toptunov was looking at the screens, adjusting the dials, then back at the screen again. Then down at something he was reading. A math textbook.  _ Of course _ , Akimov remembered. Toptunov had an evaluation coming up, for the senior engineer position. Akimov smiled at his mentee’s diligence and couldn’t help a warm wave of pride wash over him. He had been feeling strangely protective of him ever since the boy had been formally appointed under his supervision. Leonid was hard working. Had lots of stamina too. Maybe it was the countryside upbringing, or that he was still a kid, or both.

_ No _ , he shook his head. Leonid isn’t a child. _ I need to stop thinking of him like that _ . Somehow, that thought made him feel even worse.

“Does anyone have cigarettes? I’ve run out,” Stolyarchuk asked, suddenly interrupting Akimov’s train of thought. 

Kirschenbaum silently patted his chest pocket and gestured a negative to Boris.

“I’ve got some,” Toptunov offered, rising from his seat with a crumpled pack in his hand. Now that he was standing, Leonid took the opportunity to stretch out his arms and back. The loud popping sounds of his joints sounded louder in the metallic echoing of the control room.

“Whoa there! Don’t fall apart now, kid,” Boris teased, walking over to Leonid. He took off the white hat and ruffled the young man’s blond hair, as well as taking the offered vice. 

“Borja, did I mention Leonid is presenting for the senior engineer post?” Akimov found himself interjecting. Before he could stop himself he continued. “Soon enough, you won’t be able to call him ‘kid’ anymore. He’ll be your equal in rank.” 

At that moment, Akimov’s mind caught up with his mouth, but before he could panic about his sudden (and oddly motivated) commentary, Boris surprised him by breaking into a smile, brimming with absolute glee.

“Is that so? Now that’s news!  _ Molodec _ (good job) Lenya!” He gave the younger man a tight hug and a loud kiss on the cheek. 

“Stop that!” Toptunov bristled at Stolyarchuk’s over-the-top display of affection. “I haven’t presented the examination yet. Nothing is decided yet.” 

“I don’t care if you become senior engineer, I will still do this,” Boris teased again, tugging at Leonid’s white smock with the intention of pulling him in for another wet smooch. Like an annoyed little brother, Leonid fought him off. 

“I won’t let you!” 

“Hah! Try and stop me, Senior Engineer Toptunov.”

“I know karate, you know.”

Akimov wanted so desperately to say something, but the words (and thoughts) kept getting stuck somewhere. He looked to Kirschenbaum for a hint, but Igor was otherwise occupied enjoying the pseudo-fight, pausing only to check the meters of the turbo generator 8 that he was supposed to be minding. Gathering himself, Akimov brainstormed work-related commentary he could use to bring the room back to a more professional ambiance when foreman Valery Perevozchenko wandered in, clipboard in hand, along with senior turbine operator Vyacheslav Brazhnik on his heel.

“Comrade Akimov,” greeted Valery while Brazhnik glanced around the room. Akimov noticed the frown on the bespectacled operator’s face when he caught Boris’ and Leonid’s last bit of their friendly spat. Valery circled over the desk and sat down by Akimov. “We were just doing the rounds, but the shift is almost over. I had wanted to check on you.” 

“Right.” Akimov replied, adjusting his glasses. “Well, thank you, Comrade Perevozchenko. We’re all right here. Everything has been going quite smooth recently.”

“That’s just the problem, isn’t it? The foreman sighed. 

“Excuse me?” 

Valery waved his hand, reassuring him he meant no alarm. “Don’t worry, my men are also quite restless. I’m obviously content that everything is going well, yet I can’t help but feel for them. It’s been rather dull these days.

“No new recruits in the cafeteria?” Igor asked, approaching the sitting men. Boris and Leonid wandered in close as well. Brazhnik noticed the intent in the question and answered. “None younger than 50,” with disappointment easy on his voice, echoing Kirschenbaum’s frustration.

“I miss girls,” Igor sighed quietly. It was so genuinely soft the men present all cracked up in roaring laughter at Kirschenbaum’s heartfelt candor. All except Akimov, who contributed no more than a small smile. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Toptunov joining in the laughter as well, though he could hear something in his voice sounding insincere. 

“If you miss looking at a pretty face so much, go look in a mirror, Gúlja.” 

The resonating thick tenor of senior mechanical engineer Aleksandr Yuvchenko drew everyone’s attention as he entered the room. Behind him, SIUR trainees Viktor Proskuryakov and Aleksandr Kudryavtsev followed, making  _ ooh ahh  _ noises. Another round of guffaws and catcalls hung in the air and Akimov’s stomach tightened even further, in wild contrast with the nonchalant atmosphere. 

While Igor tried to defend his manhood against Sashko’s attack, Toptunov broke character for a second and shot Akimov a quick glance; a shared understanding. It was a part of the meta-language that had been forming silently between them in the past weeks. They had reached a sort of private agreement that they simply did not relate to the recurring rituals of masculinity so ever present around them. Akimov, aware and unnerved by the altered dimension they found themselves slipped into, looked for a way out. It occurred to him to glance down at his watch, a gesture Perevozchenko noticed and commented upon. 

“Comrades, our shift is over! To the showers, lads. Time to head home.”

More  _ oohs  _ and  _ aahs _ directed at Kirschenbaum. More laughs from Stolyarchuk and Yuvchenko. 

“We really ought to do something,” Boris insisted as they filed out of the control room. “When was the last time we got together?” he wondered out loud.

“Hmm. Tolya’s wedding?” Ventured the foreman.

“Sitnikov’s wedding was almost 5 months ago,” Yuvchenko reminded them. A loud whistle from Valery indicated just how long that felt.

“We could celebrate Toptunov’s soon to be new post,” Boris suggested, earning him a resolute “no” from Leonid.

“You’ll jinx it,” he spat out, blue eyes glowing angrily, and red-faced. Akimov stared at him as the others kept walking toward the stalls.

Boris simply ignored him. “Does  _ anyone _ have anything we could celebrate? Birthday? Cat just had kittens?” He refused to give up.

“Oh right. It’s Sasha’s birthday tomorrow!,” Leonid blurted out.

The men turned to look at Toptunov, whose high-pitched elation made him sound exactly like the child they all teased him to be. Akimov felt the sweat running down his back turn to ice.

Suddenly Akimov found himself caught in a storm of  _ is-that-so’s _ and  _ congratulations’ _ . The warm hands of his friends slapped his back and squeezed his shoulders. A tight bear hug from Yuvchenko left him briefly breathless. 

Toptunov stared at him sheepishly from the sidelines, realizing what he had inadvertently let out, and silently apologising with his eyes. 

  
  


_ “That’s great! We should get together and do something…” _

_ “Well that’s.. I mentioned it because.. I was wondering... I wanted to invite you over to my place for a small thing on Saturday…” _

_ “Thank you Sasha! I really look forward to it!” _

  
  


Or so had their private conversation gone a few days ago. It was his fault, really, Akimov wagered. He never told Leonid he was the only one who knew and the only one who’d been invited. 

“I-” Akimov tried to speak, without a planned follow-up. The men stopped expectantly. He straightened his back and cleared his throat.

“I’m planning a small get-together at my place. Saturday. I hope you can all come.”

“Wonderful! I’ll bring drinks,” Yuvchenko offered happily.

“Me too,” Stolyarchuk added. 

‘I have some of Vysotsky’s LPs,” Perevozchenko dropped casually, earning him impressed hums from the group.

And from Toptunov, a cocked head and a shy grin; a message that was so easy for him to decode.

_ I’m sorry Sasha. _

* * *

The end of the week had rolled by and the prospect of having to feed 9 guys in less than 24 hours filled Aleksandr Akimov with cold dread. He was a rather good cook, if he’d say so himself (not that he would, preferring to keep the fact a secret), but even his skills fell short faced with such a daunting task all on his own. That was why, going against all his deepest reservations, he decided upon requesting the assistance of the Orlov widow, the babushka that lived across the hall from him.

The hesitation was mostly on his side. Orlova was lonely; having lost her two sons during the war and a husband to heart failure. Aleksandr reminded her so much of the eldest. She was always leaving bundles of vegetables at his door, that she grew on the community fields. She was, as expected, more than happy to help him.

He got so far as knocking at her door and asking before having second thoughts, but before he could backpedal on his own initiative, she was grabbing his face in her hands, telling him not to worry, and ushering them both out the door, towards the market. It was Saturday morning, supplies were in need, and the beef-stock for borsch needed at least three hours on the stove.

After the vegetables for the Olivier salad were boiled and left to cool, and the roast chicken was almost completely done, they began working on the beef stroganoff. Akimov arched his back, trying to squeeze out hours of pain and tension of being on his feet, chopping, cutting and stirring. The old lady beside him just smiled and fluttered around his small kitchen like she owned it. His comparative lack of stamina made him feel a little embarrassed, although he knew, like everyone else, that grandmothers get their boundless energy from mysterious places. 

This... cooking like this with a sweet little old lady made him miss his family, now all living in Kiev. His mother and father, his sister, brother and their respective families. He was the oldest, yet the only one unmarried. Despite how proud they all were of his appointment as the supervisor at a nuclear power plant, his father still worried about him and his mother never missed a chance to nag for more grandchildren. Most days he had no need to dwell on it, too occupied with work to care. At some point in his life he had accepted the fact that he wouldn’t be contributing towards the growth of his family tree, knowing deep down not just that he wouldn’t be able, but that he wasn’t really interested in doing so. 

However, cooking for his soon-to-arrive guests made him ponder on such things as companionship. Would he like doing something like this, everyday, with someone, someday? Like his mother and father, like his brother and sister with their spouses? Like Sitnikov, Perevozchenko and Stolyarchuk? Despite his introverted nature and social incompetence, these men had edged themselves across his boundaries; from their shared professional lives into his inner world, and he found himself not minding it at all. They shared most of their lives with each other daily and should something truly horrible happen at work, they’d possibly even die together. It made them, in a very real sense, closer than his family.

And yet, he didn’t know them that well, not even after 3 years at the plant. He thought about Leonid again, his newest friend.  _ Friend… How do you get to know a friend? _

“What about the cake? Should we make something?” The old woman asked. Akimov shook his head, willing himself and his thoughts back to the kitchen.

“One of the guys will bring it.” 

“I’ll go put my feet up and knit then. Happy birthday Sashenka, have fun with your friends.” She wiped her hands on her apron and then raised them to his face to hold his head down low enough to plant a kiss on the top of his head. He thanked her and walked her back to her door, promising to bring a slice of cake later. 

He checked the food again, then turned the attention to himself. Finding that he smelled too much of beets and boiled cabbage he headed for the shower to freshen up. 

After getting ready, and setting everything in its place he inspected his array. A kitchen full of food. A sparse but cozy living room, with a nice large sofa, chairs, wooden cabinet upon which an old record player rested, and a thick rug against the wall, for the noise. A coffee table on which a couple of bottles of soviet champagne rested in a bucket of ice. The orange-pink light of the sunset seeped in through his balcony window, which was small, but with enough space for a few plants and an ashtray. For the first time since he’d been living there, the place looked alive. Like life actually lived there. He liked the feeling but also hated what it meant.

All that was left to do was simply press play...

Taking in a deep breath he walked over to the player and chose one record from his small collection. Carefully placing the black disk down, he turned the machine on and lowered the needle. He waited for his guests with words hanging softly in the air.

* * *

“Ah, I didn’t know someone else was bringing the cake.”

“That’s OK. We now have a Black Forest cake, a Kiev cake and your roll cake, in case we decide to dine only on desserts tonight instead of food.” Akimov reassured Brazhnik, who struggled to find a space on the table into which he could slot his present.

“My wife would be proud!” Perevozchenko commented, setting down a large block of Rossijsky cheese he had brought, wrapped in paper. “You’ve cooked more food than she does for New Year’s!” the foreman slapped his congratulations on Akimov’s back and laughed. He then pulled him in for a hug, mumbling “Happy Birthday Sasha,” into the side of his neck. Brazhnik copied the gesture, squeezing Akimov a second time.

“Thank you,” Akimov answered shyly. “Please, get yourself something to drink. Borja and Sashko brought over all the alcohol in Pripyat.”

Valery and Vyacheslav laughed as they walked out of the kitchen and into the living room, towards the couch and coffee table, where Stolyarchuk, Yuvchenko, Kirschenbaum and an endless array of bottles stood inside a large ring of cigarette smog. The foreman was provided a ceramic mug filled with fragrant Georgian wine by Yuvchenko (not minding the chip in the cup). 

He was then immediately involved in the collective effort to get Igor to down his entire glass in one go. He did, which earned him many cheers and happy slaps on his thin frame. Still laughing, Boris downed his glass next, and then Brazhnik. Finally, Yuvchenko grabbed the bottle and took a long swig, leaving barely 3 fingers’ worth and apparently winning whatever game they were playing. 

“You must do this too comrade,” Stolyarchuk explained to their foreman. “You may be our senior at work but Lenin says we’re all equal in USSR.”

“Equally drunk!” Yuvchenko let out a hearty laugh, spritzing a mouth full of red liquid everywhere. The rest of them laughed loudly, and Valery joined them. He finished his glass, grabbed the bottle and drank what was left, feeling immediately more gregarious. 

A few knocks of the door later and Proskuryakov and Kudryatvtsev were also inside. Viktor handed Akimov a large package of liquor-filled chocolate truffles and Aleksandr a rather large Servelat sausage. Perevozchenko eyed Akimov as he held the gifts in his arms with a nervous yet sincerely happy smile. He was glad the young, soft-spoken engineer had the problem of having too much food in his arms and too many people in his house. It was a good problem to have.

“Where are the girls?” Igor whined, his voice already slurring. The guys around him laughed, but agreed with him. 

“Any cute girls on the block?” 

“Brazhnik, you go ask around. You’re the better looking of us.” 

“Yes please!” Igor pleaded through a happy drunk grin, probably hoping/imagining that Brazhnik could help him score a girlfriend. Akimov hastily stepped in and shot down the plan of going around his building knocking on doors until cute girls answered. He wanted to keep his apartment just a little longer.

“Tough luck, Gúlja! Maybe next month at the fair. Girls like dancing.” Kudryavtsev offered. The rest of the men voiced their agreement.

“Can you dance?”

“Let’s see if he can dance!” 

The large and burly Yuvchenko grabbed the poor Jewish boy and twirled him around the room, with unexpected grace. Boris was at this point drunk enough to almost fall off his chair laughing. Even Brazhnik, usually so stoic, had tears in the corners of his eyes. Feeling inspired, Viktor grabbed at his fellow trainee and roomie Aleksandr to imitate the other couple and twirl around unsteadily, knocking over a few empty beer bottles. Akimov himself had a hard time containing his laughter. He wondered if Leonid too was having trouble breathing from all the laughing. 

_ Leonid _ .  _ He’s not here _ , he realized.  _ Maybe he’s not coming _ , he thought, and felt something sink in his stomach.

“Sasha, the KGB intelligence reports you have a sister” Yuvchenko bellowed, in between mouthfuls of cheese and sausage. A few crumbs fell off his chin. “Does she have friends?” He asked, wiggling his bushy eyebrows. 

“My family is all in the capital.” Akimov replied apologetic and joined them while cradling an enamel cup containing wine. He took a sip to help him relax. “You have a girlfriend Boris? You didn’t bring her?” He inquired of Stolyarchuk, trying to shift the blame.

“She’d be the only girl here! I didn’t want her to go through, well,  _ this _ .” Boris gestured widely at the whole apartment, with a loud snicker. “Even Comrade Perevozchenko came alone.” 

“They’d get bored. It’s just us awful men.” 

“To us then: the awfully drunk nuclear men!” A large cheer followed, and all the mismatched cups and glasses filled with assorted alcohol rose up in the air to crack into each other and share in enebriated brotherhood. Akimov could feel the heat rise to his face but his heart fall. They all emptied their drinks together, then poured over another round and then another. 

Then a knock on the door and a noisy creak.

“Happy Birthday Sasha. I’m so sorry I’m late,” said Toptunov, from across the threshold of the front door.

  
  


_ //  _

_ Если друг оказался вдруг _

_ И не друг, и не враг, а - так... _

_ (If a friend suddenly seems, _

_ Neither friend, nor a foe, just so…) _

_ // _

* * *

“He’s here! He’s here!” Boris chanted, and in an inebriated frenzy tackled Toptunov as he strode in through the door, almost knocking Akimov down on the way. Leonid had barely a chance to get up and catch his breath when Boris was on him again, trying to land a sloppy wet kiss to the side of his face and missing his lips by millimeters. “What the hell, crazy arsehole?!” Leonid protested, pushing Stolyarchuk away and taking the hand Akimov was offering to stand up. “This is my good jacket, Borja. You ruin it, you pay for it.” 

Akimov observed as all the guys surrounded Leonid and dragged him inside, declining them a chance to even greet each other. He wasn’t sure what to do and so he followed the group to the living room. Silently, he watched as Valery patted the boy on the head and Boris gallantly offered to take his jacket and store it safely in the bedroom (promising to be very, very careful). Should he be the one doing that? Akimov wondered. Grab the jacket and take it there himself?

Before he could decide on a course of action, Yuvchenko pushed a large clear glass full of Stolychnaja into Leonid’s hands and cried out, “Drinking game!” 

  
  


_ Oh no... _

  
  


“Drink! Drink! Drink!” The men chanted, like blasphemous monks. Toptunov assessed his glass, brimming with clear vodka. Obviously, the idea was to get him hammered, in punishment for being the last to arrive. Akimov shifted on his feet, looking for a place to sit, but all available spots were taken, so he had to squeeze his head in between Brazhnik and Viktor to be able to look at Leonid, who was flanked by Kudryatsev and Kirschenbaum, both eagerly awaiting the moment when Toptunov would down the penalty drink. 

“Guys, we should probably eat something first?” Akimov tried to deter his comrades, but they were all set on seeing Leonid Toptunov lose his shit. Yuvchenko “helped” by tipping the glass to Leonid’s lips with a thick finger, while the other two held Leonid into submission. 

“Get off, get off! I’m not drinking this!” Toptunov cried out, yet Yuvchenko kept pushing the glass and the others kept trying to immobilise him, while the rest kept laughing. With a collective gasp they all froze, and Akimov witnessed how the clear liquid splashed all over Leonid’s nice blue button up, soaking him completely as well as seeping into his black trousers. 

“Strip! Strip! Strip!” The boys switched to chanting at the sight of a wet Leonid. Akimov swallowed nervously. Leonid didn’t appreciate being teased, but would he actually fight them? He edged in closer in between the hot bodies, to intervene in case the entire thing went south.

However, Leonid seemed to be calmly shifting from assessing his wardrobe situation to staring down Yuvchenko. He grabbed the half-empty glass, grabbed the vodka bottle on the table and poured himself another glass, and then, without taking his eyes off of Yuvchenko, downed the entire thing.

“Top-tu-nov! Top-tu-nov! Top-tu-nov!” The entire apartment cheered and fists rose into the air. Leonid himself raised his arms up in victory. 

At last, Akimov wiggled to the front of the crowd. “Let’s go eat guys. Now that Lenya’s here, we can have all the food and then all the cakes.” He made an inviting gesture with a bow. After reassuring Kirschenbaum that the borsch and stroganoff were kosher, they settled around the table in the living room, arranging their chairs and squeezing in on the sofa. 

“Before we eat, may I…” Leonid started, and Akimov stopped, realising his friend was still very much drenched in alcohol. “You guys start. I’ll go help Leonid get cleaned up,” he said. Perevozchenko gave him a nod and began scoping up and slamming spoonfuls of food into each of the guy’s plates, like an amused father with too many rowdy sons. 

  
  


_ //  _

_ Если сразу не разберешь, _

_ Плох он или хорош... _

_ (If at once you cannot confirm, _

_ If he’s good, if he’s bad...) _

_ // _

  
  


“I’m sorry I’m late, Sasha. I was... I wanted to-” Toptunov began, but found himself unable to continue. Akimov himself wanted to finish the sentence for him, but felt equally tongue-tied. His eyes moved down, as they usually did when he felt lost, and noticed a small package in his friend’s hands.

“What’s that?”

Akimov’s voice made Toptunov blink. “Oh right,” he said, looking down at his hands. “It’s for you. Coffee. Turkish. Because you gave me coffee that time- I mean, because you like coffee... I think? Here.” He shoved the little box in Akimov’s hand, grazing the other’s fingers as he did so. Both reflexively pulled away as if singed by fire.

“Thank you Leonid. Also, thank you for coming,” Akimov said, and gave his friend a smile. Leonid felt his face relax into a smile of his own. Etiquette would dictate that a celebratory hug would follow, yet instead, they found themselves performing a strange dance of half steps and open arms, as if trying to find the best angle at which to press their bodies together, and apparently finding it impossible to sync long enough to be able to do so. Finally, an agreement of a lighting quick pat on each other’s backs was reached and they pulled away again, the fire in their faces this time. 

“Uhm, lemme get you something,” Akimov tore his eyes away. He kept lowering them, but they seemed to insist on zooming in to Toptunov’s wet crotch (and he kept scolding himself mentally for it). He rummaged through his closet for a shirt that might fit his taller, thinner friend. He settled on a yellow one, a bit old, but that’s why he liked it. The fabric was worn down to where it had become a comfort piece. He pulled it out of the hanger and gave it to Leonid, still attempting to avert his eyes, and failing. 

“You’ve got any trousers I could use as well?” he heard Toptunov ask. He turned to look at him and saw Leonid already unzipping and slipping out of his pair. He turned back around. 

_ Think. Quickly.  _ “Ah, I- I think I’m not your size,” Akimov chose to say. It was true, and also very convenient.

“Oh.” A pause. Then a reply. “It was only a little bit. I can keep them on.” 

A sigh of relief that he hoped Leonid didn't notice. 

“Sasha?”

Akimov turned around and found himself looking up into Lenya’s eyes. He realized that the two of them stood face to face in his half-lit bedroom, and Lenya was half naked with his shirt open while the full moon shone through the window as a backdrop, silhouetting him. The blue in Lenya’s eyes like electric fireflies in the darkness... A sensation of falling without moving... A memory of the locker room, where another full moon had once imposed on their privacy and had seen them naked.

A voice. 

His own, that he couldn’t find. 

Then Lenya’s. 

“Are you hungry? I want to try what you made.” 

Akimov blinked. “You know what? Let’s go before there’s nothing left.” Hiding his eyes behind his thick rimmed glasses, he gestured towards the door. “They’ve done nothing but drink. They will probably eat even the table.”

He noticed Toptunov smile, and how his thin, deft fingers wandered up and down, buttoning up and smoothing the fabric of the shirt as he nodded in agreement.

“Thank you for the coffee, Lenya,” he told him, smiling.

“Happy Birthday Sasha, and again I’m sorry,” Toptunov replied, sliding towards Akimov and pressing his body against his, in a warm, sincere and un-awkward hug this time. 

  
  


_ //  _

_ Парня в горы тяни - рискни! _

_ Не бросай одного его… _

_ (Take him to the mountains - take a risk, _

_ Don't leave him all alone...) _

_ // _

  
  


They returned to the table and incredibly there was little left for them. As it turned out, the babushka had been right with scary precision as to how much food was going to be necessary. Grandmothers and their mysterious knowledge be blessed. Many  _ ‘Happy Birthday Sasha’s  _ got passed around the table along with thick slices of cake from three available ones. They washed it all down with the chilled champagne and chased it all down with the delicious chocolate truffles Viktor brought as his contribution.

The sleepy, full and quite drunk men smoked around the table now, telling lewd jokes and discussing future plans for more mayhem and drinking, when their happy reveries were suddenly interrupted by the sound of the needle scratching, and the crackling noise of no music.

“Shit!” Akimov cursed, rushing over to the record player.

  
  


_ //  _

_ Пусть он в связке в одной с тобой - _

_ Там поймешь, кто такой… _

_ (Let him stay in a bind with you,  _

_ There you’ll know who he is…) _

_ // _

  
  


“Play the one I brought,” Valery said, handing Akimov an LP. ‘It’s my favorite.” 

“Oh I know that one!” Yuvchenko snatched the record from Perevozchenko’s hands and placed it on the player himself, but his fingers, imprecise and sloppy, forced the needle, breaking it and leaving a long scratch along the black ribbed surface. Sasha and Valery both cursed in tandem.

“You broke my needle!”

“You broke my record!”

“Looks like we’ll have to improvise, Valera,” said Vyacheslav, attempting to remedy the situation by singing and dancing to a drunken rendition of  _ “Ochie Chernie.” _ They all cracked up in laughter as they watched the normally quiet and stoic man attempt a baritone and twirl around in suggestive circles, earning him a flurry of catcalls and whistles. Igor and Boris let out hearty laughs in between sips of their champagne while Leonid stuffed his mouth full of chocolate truffles that sat on the table. He also broke out in a choked snickers, letting the dark sticky mess show through his teeth.

While the men ‘danced,’ Valery held the record in his hands like a hurt animal, while angrily sending Yuvchenko eye daggers. The large burly man paid him no heed as he was otherwise preoccupied with downing beer after beer and puffing furiously on cigarettes while enjoying Brazhnik’s show. Akimov sat down next to Toptunov, who popped another chocolate in his mouth, barely chewing. He decided to try one himself, and so stole one right from Leonid’s fingers, causing the younger man to give him a rather cute pout. 

He chewed and swallowed. The candy had a sweet, velvety feel, and a tangy, slightly bitter aftertaste that was very familiar. Curious, he grabbed the wrapper and read “LAIMA Cream Liqueur Riga BlackBalsam Assortment.”

_ Oh no… again... _

“Sashaa! Sasha can siiiing!” Toptunov’s voice drawled. He looked at Sasha with a half smile and drooping eyelids. He then swung his long, thin arm around Akimov’s shoulder and smashed himself into his thicker friend. Akimov could smell how bad it was through his breath already. He thought about getting up to fetch him some water, but his whole body was suddenly paralysed with Lenya’s warmth so close. “I’ve heard you humming. In the bathroom, remember? You have a nice voice, Sashaaa,” the drunk blonde was not giving up.

“Oh! Why was Lenya with you in the bathroom hearing you sing,  _ Sasha _ ?” Boris teased in the loudest, most annoying voice possible, finishing it off with an all-knowing smirk. The chorus erupted with many  _ oos _ and  _ aahs _ , while Igor rejoiced in not being the object of lewd teasing anymore. 

“Shut up, Borja!” Toptunov cut him off, getting up for emphasis, but a little too suddenly, and as a result fell square into Akimov’s lap. Everyone just laughed until snot came out of their noses.

“You told me you luv dis song, Sasha, ‘member? That time… cafeteria… you sang a little an’you said you can even play it...” Leonid, still in his lap, revealed to the eager audience and Akimov squirmed thinking,  _ you idiot, I only told  _ _ you _ _ that. _

“Play it? On an instrument?” Valery asked. Akimov’s face felt like it would melt off right then and there, but he nodded. “Yes,” he confessed. 

“You have got to play that song then, Sasha! Please!” Boris pleaded, and the rest joined in. There was no use trying to get out of it now. Akimov sighed. He carefully removed Leonid off from his lap and raised his hands in surrender. Sighing, he made his way to the bedroom to retrieve his old guitar from its resting place, somewhere in the back of his closet.

Already tuned, and with his expectant guests quiet for the first time in the entire evening, Aleksandr Akimov played and sang, in a hauntingly beautiful voice:

  
  


_ // Если парень в горах - не ах, _

_ Если сразу раскис и - вниз, _

_ Шаг ступил на ледник и - сник, _

_ Оступился - и в крик, _

_ Значит, рядом с тобой - чужой, _

_ Ты его не брани - гони _

_ Вверх таких не берут, и тут _

_ Про таких не поют  _

_ (If the man in the mountains gives up, _

_ If he’s losing his cool and rushes down, _

_ One step on the glacier and confidence lost, _

_ Slipped and shrieked,  _

_ Then next to you is not your man. _

_ Don’t scold him, just chase him away, _

_ We don’t take men like that up with us, _

_ And we don’t spare them a song.)  _

_ // _

After the applause, and a couple more rounds of drinks and cigarettes, the men slowly mellowed into sleepy stupor. Perevozchenko excused himself home and Brazhnik, Proskyurakov and Kudryatsev left with him, hitching a ride in Valery’s car, since he’d been good with the drink and a self-appointed designated driver. After helping Akimov clean up somewhat, Yuvchenko and Stolyarchuk dragged Kirschenbaum out with them, and would have taken Toptunov as well, but Leonid would not move no matter how much they poked him. He lay with his face in the cushions, snoring loudly. 

“Leave him be. He’s too drunk to even walk. I’ll let him sleep here,” Akimov sighed, taking off his glasses and trying to rub off the sleep from his eyes. He gave each one a hug (and got a sloppy kiss from Boris), and saw them off all the way to the sidewalk, making sure they could indeed walk back home. Thankfully, they didn’t live far.

Now back in front of Toptunov, who lay face down on his sofa, completely shitfaced, he wondered what to do. Leave him there, or try carrying him into the bed? One option seemed kind of cold, the other…

_ //  _

_ Если ж он не скулил, не ныл, _

_ Пусть он хмур был и зол, но - шел, _

_ А когда ты упал со скал, _

_ Он стонал, но - держал...  _

_ (If he kept his rage in a shell,  _

_ As he pulled through without a sound,  _

_ Grabbed out for your hand when you fell,  _

_ May have groaned but he held... ) _

_ // _

* * *

The pressure in his bladder woke him. Groaning loudly, Leonid tried getting up and opening his eyes, but they felt glued shut. His head throbbed and threatened to explode. Using his hands, he probed and searched, looking for a wall to guide himself, and followed the lead to the bathroom. 

Fingering around for the light switch, he flicked it on and cried a dirty curse as the light pierced his eyeballs up through his skull. He unzipped himself and flicked open the lid with his toes, then let out a loud stream that seemed endless while moaning obscenely in relief.

Once that was done, and having cleaned himself up a little, Leonid made his way back to the bedroom and let himself fall down on the bed, hugging the pillow close. He buried his face in it and inhaled deeply. The soft scent was lulling him to sleep. He was almost across the line between awareness and slumber when he had the realisation. 

“Where am I?” His eyes popped completely open in the darkness. 

He looked around, but his vision took a little while to adjust. When it did, aided by the moonlight seeping in, he noticed he was in Sasha’s bed with a thoughtfully placed pail by the headboard. His brain, usually quite quick at computing, was awfully slow in sorting out the situation.  _ If I’m here, then where is Sasha? _ He walked out of the room and into the hall to find out. 

Sasha himself was curled up as an uncomfortable ball on the sofa in the living room. He was holding his face in his right hand, his usual gesture, and breathed almost inaudibly. Leonid only noticed his breathing through the rise and fall of his chest. He had no glasses on, which was starling to Lenya. He had never seen Akimov without them (he didn’t think anyone had), and realized he had weirdly believed that Akimov didn’t really have a face that wasn’t framed by those glasses. And yet, there it was, and it was a rather young face. Sasha was not that much older than he; he just seemed like it because he was always so somber and responsible. The one that took care of everyone. Who took the brunt of all the cruelty of the higher ups so they wouldn’t have to. 

All of that and seeing him there, sleeping in that uncomfortable way, all because Leonid had been too drunk to go home, squeezed sympathy out of Lenya’s heart like a wet rag.  _ He must have carried me all the way to the bed, _ he thought, feeling even worse, knowing that despite his thin frame, he wasn’t exactly a lightweight. He wondered what to do, maybe help  _ him _ into the bed, and take back the sofa. An sudden image, like an intruder, flashed through his mind, of climbing into the bed with Sasha, but he shook it out. He decided it would be best to just leave him be. He went back to the bedroom and grabbed the sheets, then edged close enough to wrap Akimov in them, careful to not stir him. He prepared to tip-toe back to the bedroom unnoticed but before he did, overwhelmed perhaps by fatigue and tenderness, he leaned over Sasha’s head and very carefully kissed the top, taking in a long, deep breath as he did. A soft, sweet scent filled his lungs and lulled him. It was the same as the pillow on the bed he had been sleeping in. 

  
  


_ //  _

_ Если шел за тобой, как в бой, _

_ На вершине стоял хмельной,- _

_ Значит, как на себя самого, _

_ Положись на него. _

_ (If he marched through with you to fight,  _

_ To a summit which stole his might, _

_ It means you’ve found a friend,  _

_ You can keep to the end.) _

_ // _

>>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: "Pesnya o Druge" (Song about a Friend) by Vladimir Visotsky, a renowned soviet folk singer and actor.  
> 💛


	4. The Cowherd and The Weaver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Akimov and Toptunov go on a camping trip. Alone.

_ The Cowherd _

Nothing but silence surrounded them. The entire world had been muted out with a button and only the blinking lights of the panels remained, like stars in space. It was unusually empty in the control room that night, and deep into the shift.  _ This must be how the cosmonauts feel _ , Leonid thought, as he kept head-butting into his arms. He had them folded into a pillow over his panel, and rested his forehead upon them. After a few more nods, he yawned loudly and glanced over at his supervisor, who had already fully succumbed to sleep in his chair. Feeling too drowsy to keep his head upright, he settled his left cheek onto his folded hands, so he could continue observing his friend snore softly.  _ He looks so tired _ , he thought.  _ Sasha, you do too much. _

Just as he was about to be crushed under the unbearable weight of his eyelashes, he caught a glimpse of a shiny, silvery thing moving across Sasha’s desk. It rolled down, and down... until it was suspended in the air and hit the ground with a loud  _ clunk _ . Sasha blinked his eyes open, startled. His sudden reaction shook Leonid fully awake. The night shift supervisor looked down at the dropped pen and on the way up, his gaze fixed on Toptunov, who was himself trying to conceal drowsiness.

“This is quite embarrassing,” Sasha said, straightening his uniform and himself in the chair.

“I won’t tell Dyatlov if you don’t tell on me,” Leonid suggested cheekily. Sasha relaxed and chuckled softly. “I promise,” he assured his trainee, and pushed his chair out of the way a little so he could reach down and pick up his pen. Just then, gravity did its job and his hat slid off, causing him to grunt in frustration.

“Let me,” Leonid jumped from his chair and approached so he could grab the fallen objects.

He kneeled down to pick up Sasha’s hat, and in the process, his own slid off. With a similarly frustrated grunt he grabbed them both, and pushed a hand on a knee to help himself up. However, when he looked up, he found himself locked into an unwavering stare with Sasha’s eyes. Blue-green like the open ocean; he was drowning in them. His breathing all but stopped and he felt himself sucked into the current of the blue whirlpools.

He knelt before him and slowly he began to rise, but went in towards Sasha instead of upright. An incomprehensible impulse had him release the hats and bring his empty hands to cup Sasha’s face. Sasha opened his mouth to say something but no sounds came out. In this silent world, all Leonid could hear was his own heartbeat, drumming faster and faster as he inched closer and closer.

He swallowed.

And pushed through the last inch of space into Sasha’s mouth.

For a few moments he just stood motionless. All he could feel was simply pressure; something warm pressed against his face, a faint sensation of moustache hair and a bit of hot breath. He waited; for rejection or a green light. And then it came. A sliding, angled head, lips that fit like puzzle pieces, and a tongue darted forward, to meet his.

The unbelievable force with which pleasure bolted right through him was unlike anything he had ever felt. Hundreds of amperes flowing through him in milliseconds, concentrated on a single point. Reason collapsed and he felt completely blind yet his body seems to know exactly what to do. He pushed into Sasha’s mouth and Sasha pushed into his and just as his fingers snaked into Sasha’s soft hair, he could feel Sasha wrapping his hands on his nape, locking there with amazing force. He did not hold back, pushing further, kissing and licking, using his tongue to rub inside and around Sasha’s mouth, not caring if he was leaving him face full of drool. Sasha moaned into him when Leonid dared run his fingers over his ears and down his neck. He relished in discovering the magic that Sasha’s moans had on his body. His hips bucked on their own accord into Sasha. Everything felt scalding hot, even clothes.

He ventured a hand up Sasha’s shirt, and found himself happily received.  _ Leonid, don’t stop,  _ Sasha moaned in his ear.

He was about to dunk his hand down Sasha’s white waistband when he heard faint knocking. The sweet taste of Sasha’s tongue as it explored his mouth was too intoxicating to shift his attention to the increasing noise.  _ Is it the guys? What if someone opens the door and sees us? Where are they, anyway? _

Somehow, he didn’t care at all. He pushed his hand lower, trying to find Sasha. He barely heard the creaking hinges as the door pried open, too lost in pleasure to care.

“Leonid? Good morning. How are you feeling? I brought you this, I thought you might need it. How did you sleep?” said Akimov, squatting right in front of him, a glass of water in his left hand and a small, white round pill in his right.

Like a frightened cat suddenly startled, Leonid nearly hit the ceiling with how fast he sat up on the bed. He blinked himself awake furiously, as quickly as his body could manage while Akimov regarded him with concern. As he continued to will himself awake, he noticed a rosy tint in Akimov’s cheeks and a sudden aversion of his eyes. Panic shot through his entire body as the realisation hit him and he balled up the sheets, desperately trying to hide his raging erection, a little too late.

_ Fuck _ .

“Sasha. Good morning. I’m- did I?…” he eyed the pail by the head of the bed. Akimov caught his meaning. “No, you didn’t,” he replied. “But I left it there for you, just in case.”

“I’ll, uh, let you get up and get dressed. I’ll be in the kitchen.” Akimov cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses, exiting the room without looking back at him. He left the glass and aspirin on the desk.

“Wow, I’m a crazy fuck, aren’t I?” Leonid Toptunov said to himself out loud, burying his face in his hands. 

* * *

Hastily, he got up and walked over to the desk to take the aspirin Akimov had been so kind to give him. He drank the entire glass of water, realizing how parched he was, the cool liquid tasting faintly sweet and refreshing his throat. He scanned the room for his clothes, finding them atop the dresser, neatly folded, leading to two further realisations. Firstly, that he was currently not wearing anything but his briefs, making the whole ordeal far more mortifying.  _ How on earth did I end up almost naked in Sasha’s bed?  _ His brain screamed at him. 

The second being that Akimov must have come in at some point, picked up his clothes from the floor, folded them, and set them there for him. He felt a strong tug and squeeze in his heart at the thought, just like the one last night.

Last night...

A memory flashed across the screen of his mind, of himself kissing Sasha’s head, ever so softly.

_ Why did I do that? _ He interrogated himself in shock, absolutely lost.  _ What the fuck is wrong with me? _

This last question brought his attention down between his legs. Of course he knew. He knew himself better than to try to chalk it up to morning wood. There would be time to ponder upon its meaning later, he considered, but for now, he needed to do something or he would not be able to sit through breakfast in Sasha’s presence. Guilt and a short-lived wave of shame attacked him, but he resolved himself, manners be damned. He grabbed his clothes in a bundle and pried the bedroom door open. After making sure he could not be seen from the hallway, he sprinted for the bathroom and locked himself in there. He let the faucet run all the way for the noise, pressed his forehead to the wall and “got to work.”

* * *

“Leonid. Feeling better? Did the aspirin help?”

“Yes, much better. Thank you, Sasha.”

Toptunov sat across from Akimov on the exceedingly busy table, littered with empty and dirty dishes, cutlery, bowls, pans, mugs and glasses. He could tell Akimov had been washing and drying utensils all morning, and he was still not done. The living room looked turned over still, despite Akimov having worked on it. Feeling guilty enough, Toptunov decided to take some of the matters into his own hands.

“Sasha, please sit. Let me. I’ll do the rest,” he offered.

Akimov blinked at him. He said nothing, but accepted with a nod. He didn’t sit down, though. “Thank you Leonid. I’ll put some coffee on for us then.”

“You haven’t had coffee yet?” Toptunov asked him, incredulously.

“I was waiting for you,” Akimov answered, turning around to give him a small smile. Leonid felt warmth, as if the sun shone upon his face.

The warmth also... traveled... down, waking him up elsewhere.  _ What on fucking earth? Even after I just... _

“Do you like this, Leonid?”

_ What?  _ “What?”

“For the coffee? I like adding cinnamon to it. It’s just a personal preference. But I won’t add any if you’re not fond of it.” His host patiently explained to him while holding a little container in his hands, that he assumed was the spice mentioned.

Leonid sighed, and ran a hand through his bed-head. “I’ve never had it like that before,” he confessed. “To be honest, I’ve never been much of a coffee drinker. We always had tea at home.” He knew his friend would not be too happy to hear such a confession, but he felt he owed him a bit of personal truth (at least in the topic of beverages). Before Sasha’s face could fall, however, he made sure to add, “but ever since I’ve known you, I’ve grown to love it.”  _ I love coffee? _ He wondered sincerely to himself. It didn’t feel untrue...

“Wonderful! I think you’re going to like it,” Akimov said excitedly. He gestured animatedly as he opened up the coffee packet and scooped up a few spoonfuls into the copper  _ turka _ (Turkish coffee pot), hissing softly on the stove. He hummed softly to himself, gliding about the kitchen like an inspired chef, pleased to please. “It‘s really good like this!” He insisted, as he sprinkled sweet-smelling cinnamon onto the coffee concoction.

Toptunov shifted uncomfortably in his seat, while trying to hold a smile steady on his face. The way Akimov innocently stressed the phrase and the slight swing in his hips as he worked and hummed made him mentally recite to himself:  _ God, Sasha, stop, please... _

_ No, don’t stop, _ his brain counter-argued.  _ Leonid, don’t stop,  _ dream Sasha moaned in his ear. His pants tented again.  _ Oh for the love of- _

“This is the one you gave me, by the way,” Akimov said as he shifted his weight onto toes to put back the coffee and cinnamon on the shelves. Leonid noticed how his light blue t-shirt lifted as he did so, revealing a strip of soft, white flesh that looked quite enticing, so much more than the left-over Olivier salad that sat currently in a casserole in front of him. His lusting was soon interrupted again with a request. “Could you grab two mugs from over there? Get yourself a plate too, and dig in. You must be starving.” Akimov gestured towards the dishes with a nod; plates and cutlery sitting atop a wet kitchen towel next to the sink.

It was now time to figure out how to get up and grab the mugs while avoiding his host’s line of sight; at least until he could sit back down and will his “problem” away. He settled on a sideways approach, extending a hand towards the mugs. Leonid set them down on the table and reached out again for a couple of plates and forks and a large spoon, and sat back down, all the while thanking genetics for his unusually long limbs.

He left a set of cutlery and dishes near Akimov’s side of the table and on his plate he served salad, left-over roast chicken and stew. Before he could open his mouth to ask for permission Akimov was already waving him on to start eating, so he did, feeling grateful to have something else to focus on. The morning’s bewilderment was giving way to shame and a slight sadness. What he thought he had figured out and solved, like a tricky equation, raised its head again (damned be the pun), making him understand that he had never truly solved anything.

He had known since.. well, always, but he didn’t truly notice until one rainy afternoon, after school, while he was watching TV in the living room (and supposedly doing his homework) and a movie came on. It was your typical Soviet war featurette and he was half-watching it and half-working on quadratic equations when a particular scene came on. Two soldiers, back to the camera, one sitting in front of a piano and the other crouched in front; hands raised to cup the other’s and their faces pressed together in an open kiss. Twelve-year-old him looked at the screen intently, though he could not understand at the time what he was looking at. Such displays of affection among men were not uncommon in Soviet cinema and nobody ever looked twice nor wondered if there was anything beyond brotherhood and camaraderie in the gestures. Besides, such... imaginings... were simply unspoken about (“there is no sex in the USSR” after all), so there were no words for what he saw. Yet there was something, in his body, that  _ did _ know. That was the threshold of wet dreams and awkward boners at school. He remembered how relieved he was to find out his male classmates were going through the same ordeal. He soon found, by way of their usual lunchtime banter, that they were all hitting that developmental landmark in impressive synchronization. The key difference, however, being the gender of the stimuli but he hadn’t figured out that part very well yet.

He did when one afternoon when, while playing with his friends from the apartment block as usual, a girl joined them. She seemed intent on following Toptunov around the entire playground. The other boys decided, since she was a girl, that Leonid should lure her to the back of the garbage dumpster area and kiss her there. They’d been doing it a lot recently with the girls from the block. It was Leonid’s turn now.

Even the girl seemed to agree to the plan. She took Leonid’s pocket Tetris (that his father had gifted him for his last birthday) and ran with it to the back of the dumpster. She eagerly awaited him there but Leonid didn’t follow. He yelled at the “stupid” girl that she could very well keep it, and barged back inside the building, crying. Knowing he would never live down the humiliation he didn’t go outside to play for almost six weeks. After a while, it became easier to avoid that particular group of children and make new friends, at home and school, as well as stuff that memory down where he could not find it. Until today, when it all came out spilling like too many dirty socks in a drawer.

The way Sergei, his childhood friend, would light up when he laughed... or the way Dima, his swimming lessons buddy, glided across the water, like a silvery dolphin... or the way Andrei, his roommate in university, looked like an angel when dozing off studying in their dorm...

The way Sasha looked at him in the changing room... in the control room... in the bus... in the cafeteria... in his apartment... in his kitchen...

_ Now... _

“Lenya?” His diminutive on Akimov’s voice carried him back to the present. His eyes focused on a mug of streaming, fragrant coffee, materialized before him. “Are you alright? You seem.. lost.” Akimov’s voice held a slight note of worry. He had been sitting in front of Toptunov, weaving his fingers around and through the handle of his own mug, for who knows how long.

Leonid ran his hands down his face, exasperated with himself, and grabbed the mug. He wrapped his fingers around it, in a fashion similar to Akimov, and let the warmth ease him. “Yes. I’m sorry, Sasha. I’m alright, just... tired, still. I’m very sorry... about yesterday.”

“It’s OK, Leonid. I’m just concerned if you’re alright. You were pretty drunk last night!”

“I was! I’m- Sasha, I’m so sorry! I hope I didn’t do anything stupid.”

“Not too stupid. Just a little.” Akimov teased slightly, hoping to lighten his mood.

“Also, thank you for... did you... did you carry me?”

“I... “ Akimov let his eyes fall to his drink, but allowed a smile to peek from under his moustache. “I couldn’t leave you on the sofa. That wouldn’t have been very hospitable of me.”

“Sasha... you didn’t have to.”

“It’s OK, Leonid. I wanted to.”

They reached that place in conversations sometimes, where neither knows how to go on and the words and thoughts fall into pleasant silence. The men ate and sipped on their coffees quietly, anxious at first about the pregnant pause, then slipping into a contentment familiar already; practiced frequently at work, where they could go for hours without speaking, but without leaving each other’s company. Leonid let himself delight in the early morning light filtering through the white lace kitchen curtains, thinking his friend truly had a talent for making these bleak, Soviet-style apartments feel like a cozy home.

“How’s the food?” Akimov asked after a while, as he scooped up salad and chicken onto his plate.

“Delicious!” Leonid blurted out, chewing contentedly. “This is so much better the day after, isn’t it?”

“Oh, most definitely! I remember, when I was a child, I used to look forward to the day after New Year’s much more than the actual day, because there would be so much leftover food. We would have such a feast for breakfast,” he sighed. “Oh I miss those days.”

“Do you miss your family?” Leonid asked.

The question made Akimov’s gregariousness diminish somewhat. “Sometimes. Does it make me look bad if I say I just miss the food?”

“A little, I suppose,” Leonid joked. He reached out a hand to squeeze Sasha’s shoulder. “But you’re an amazing cook, Sasha! Truly, this is incredible. There’s nothing to miss if you can make this yourself.”

“I know, but it's not the same if I just cook for myself,” Akimov replied, poking at a piece of chicken with his fork. “It’s different when I cook for someone else. It’s just better.”

Leonid smiled. “Yeah, I can taste it. The better.” Akimov smiled back. 

“How about you? Do you miss how it used to be, when you were little?”

“I…” Leonid scrunched up his nose, wondering. “Sometimes. I thought I missed the past, like everyone else, but no. I don’t miss my childhood.”

“Me neither, to be honest,” Akimov said in agreement and a little too quickly. It was fleeting and quick but Leonid caught the flash of a dark shadow across his face at the statement. He felt instinctively a need for a shift in the conversation.

“I... should get going. I’ve bothered you long enough.” He rose from the table, mug, plate and fork in hand and walked them over to the sink. Akimov didn’t say anything, and Leonid didn’t wait long enough to observe his reaction. He simply washed the dishes in silence and noticed he was hoping more for a rebuttal than an acknowledgement.

“Leonid, are you busy later?” 

Leonid felt his heart suddenly jump.

“Uh, no. It’s Sunday. I’m free, why?”

“Want to go camping?”

“Camping?”

“There’s a place up river... not far from here. Almost an hour away. We could get there before nightfall, fish at sunset and sunrise, then drive back afterwards. It’ll be short, but we don’t have to be on until Monday night, so we have the time.”

“Yes, I mean, it sounds good, but I wonder, why this idea, all of a sudden?”

“It’s not. Actually…” Akimov swallowed hard before he added the rest. “This was my original idea, when I told you about my birthday plans. I had arranged for a weekend fishing trip... for us.”

“For us?” Leonid’s brain screamed the “us” part back at him.

“It’s what I was inviting you to. Remember? I told you I was arranging something and invited you. I thought we’d go Saturday and come back Sunday evening. Thankfully, we’re still off Sunday evening, so we can drive back Monday with no issue. That was the plan... that is, until you decided to reveal things and had me organize a party for 10 instead.”

It hit him then. “Oh. Oh! I am so sorry Sasha! I didn’t know that’s what you wanted!”

Akimov laughed. “It’s alright, it was supposed to be a surprise. But now that you know, you can make it up to me by going? I still have everything prepared: rods, tent, gear, my father’s old car, and we can take the leftovers for food... seeing as we have so much.” Akimov looked at the leftovers on the table, thinking how it hadn’t been such a bad idea to make the feast, after all. 

“What do you say? I think if we hurry with the clean up here we can be on our way soon. Plenty of time to catch some fish!” He grabbed the wet dish cloth and threw it at Leonid, in good jest.

Leonid felt his heart leap at something and threw back the wet rag. “Absolutely!” Taking advantage of being by the sink still, he used a spoon to spray Akimov with water. A friendly fight ensued. Between the laughter, the clanking of pots and pans, and the water flying through the kitchen, it would have seemed to anyone watching that the two men had gone mad with happiness. 

* * *

_ The Weaver _

  
  


After all the gear, supplies and food were already loaded into his father’s rusty blue Lada, Aleksandr Akimov finally closed the trunk, having to give it a strong push and a little shove to make it close shut. The old thing had its tricks. He had made sure to pack the turka, and bring along Leonid’s gift coffee, so they could enjoy a nice warm cup with dinner and breakfast tomorrow. He knew he drank far too much of it, but he didn’t care. It was a small pleasure he allowed himself. One of the very few.

Another being the trip itself. He had been thinking about it and planning it for almost a year already. It was something he had wanted to do for a very long time, but he could never find the time... or the company for it. Of course, he could have gone alone, but somehow, that didn’t feel right. Additionally, he had never been popular enough to be considered by another party for their own camping plans.

Yet now here he was, on the road, to his first ever camping trip with a friend. A true friend, finally, and on his birthday, no less! He let himself secretly wish that his 33rd be spent the exact same way.

With the same person.

The person in question, Leonid Toptunov, lay sprawled fast asleep in a not-so-dignified pose across the passenger seat, ostensibly in need of further rest after his drinking charade. He snored softly as the faint glimmer of a string of drool slid down to his collar, soaking the fabric of his blue flannel shirt. One of his trainers had slipped off and the white t-shirt he wore rode up, revealing the blinding white skin of his stomach. Akimov felt it difficult to keep his eyes on the road but he was not sure it would be easier if Toptunov had been awake, as he was sure he’d get distracted with his friend’s ramblings anyways.

It’s just tiredness…  _ it’s easy to get distracted when one is tired _ … he reassured himself.

Then surely he had been exhausted for months, he figured. It was no secret that he had become a little slow and sluggish at work and that he quite frequently spaced out, even in mid-conversation. He was earning himself a reputation with Dyatlov of becoming ‘moronic’ and ‘dull-witted’ but the ruthless evaluations from his superior were hardly uncharacteristic. What were, though, were the appearance of uncontainable impulses in him, previously absent. Things like lingering slightly too long in the changing rooms with Toptunov or a compulsion to squeeze his shoulders whenever he’d get a training exercise right or the need to stay after work tutoring him, justified by some obscure internal logic that had little to do with objective reality. Sometimes it would be wanting to tell him all about about the book he was currently reading or hum him his favourite song.

_ You should be ashamed of yourself,  _ said a voice inside his head.  _ He doesn’t even know. _

The sensation of a disembodied voice speaking directly to him from within his mind was jarring. He must have made some noise because he noticed Toptunov stirring and waking up. 

“Ah, Sasha. How long have I been out?”

“Not long. Half an hour at most.”

“Are you tired? Do you want me to drive?”

Sasha shook his head. “It’s fine. We’re almost there.” However, Toptunov gave him  _ that _ look, which always made him commiserate. “You can drive on the way back, how’s that?”

“Deal.”

Toptunov bounced a little in his seat and chuckled. Akimov wanted nothing more than to peel his eyes off the road and just look at him but he knew how to mind himself well enough to keep steady at the task at hand, having mastered the art of it long ago.

While he did, Toptunov fished for something in his trouser’s pocket and eventually retrieved a cigarette pack along with some matches. He shook and bumped the box on his knee, like an experienced smoker, and unwrapped the dark blue box. He took one out and offered another to Akimov, who declined with a subtle head shake. Toptunov shrugged and held the cigarette tight with his mouth while cupping his hands to light the match. Akimov’s exercise in self-control was not enough to impede his gaze from falling on the entire act with careful attention.

“You sure you don’t want one? It’s not that garbage that Borja usually smokes,” Toptunov offered once more, but Akimov again did not take one. Wanting to lift the mood a bit to something more jovial, though, he did take the opportunity to mess with him a little.

“Kosmos, eh? Well, aren’t you fancy! Not like the rest of us mortals who make do with Prima’s!”

“That shit goes out and you have to relight it all the time. I don’t know how Borja can stand it. I think that’s why he is always asking me for a smoke.”

“Maybe he just likes you!” Akimov poked Leonid’s shoulder as a taunt.

“Maybe, eh? You figure that’s why he always tries to kiss me?” Toptunov chortled, slapping Akimov’s shoulder.

“Maybe. I mean, who wouldn’t?”

The words were out too soon and too late did he know it. An innocent joke that in his particular case carried too much meaning. Toptunov just gave him a friendly smile in return and settled on enjoying his cigarette nonchalantly but  _ it _ was already there; in the air, mixing in with the smoke.

At last, after what felt like an eternity, they arrived at their destination; a popular camping area upstream the Pripyat river, lined with tall pines and grasses. “Ah, we’re here,” Akimov breathed in relief, pointing a finger at the narrowing road. It morphed into dirt and rubble and after rumbling along for a few more minutes, they were within an enclosure of elms and birches that gave way to a clearing. He parked the car near the entrance, and got out to unpack things. As soon as he did, he felt better, letting the fresh forest air clear his head.

Toptunov followed, popping joints here and there, the noises adding to the symphony of forest wildlife. Akimov let himself relax, remembering Stolyarchuk’s words fondly; Leonid truly did sound like he was going to fall apart like a wooden doll! He was so bony; lots of sharp angles, upon which soft, milky cream skin was tautly stretched. So unusual... so otherworldly. He could stare at him for hours. He often did.

He often felt ashamed of it too.

_ You should be… _

He automatically lowered his eyes and hid them behind his glasses, looking for something to do to keep his mind from further wanderings. Unaware Leonid unloaded the car in amused silence, placing the food basket up on a tree trunk while Sasha arranged a few rocks for a fire. Akimov grabbed the foldable tent and the rods and scanned the place for a good spot. He finally settled on a patch of ground near some gooseberry bushes and sat down to untangle the mess of string and metal. The damned things were knotted and hard to separate. He felt the tugs he gave the strings in his own heart.  _ This was a bad idea. Why did I invite him? _ he wondered to himself.  _ You know why,  _ the voice answered.

“Sasha, I’m gonna go take a piss and fetch some firewood, OK?” Toptunov announced, startling Akimov so that he dropped the metal rods on the ground, hitting each other and clanking loudly. “Will you be alright?” he asked, concerned. Akimov waved him off with the usual small smile. Leonid seemed convinced enough and wandered off into the bushes, whistling playfully.

“I should... we should... go back,” Akimov began to tell himself out loud but found he could not continue. How would he explain the sudden change of plans? After making the drive and after planning the whole thing for months, then finally mustering up the courage to ask Leonid to come along... to then tell him he’d changed his mind? That wouldn’t make any sense. There’d be no way to explain it to him without-

On the edge of his mind, on the tip of his tongue. At some point, it would come out, and he’d be doomed. The familiar chill hit his stomach and dizziness overtook him. The idea of eating felt nauseating and he had an almost unstoppable urge to run, in no particular direction.

He decided, as he often did, that the best cure for this was to throw himself into his work. So he did, forcing his complete attention upon the task of completing the tent (check), laying out the blanket for the picnic (check), arranging the blankets inside (check), hooking the lines to the fishing rods and making sure they had good bait (check and check) and setting some coffee powder aside for a cup later, once Leonid got back with the kindling.

“Sasha, I think I found a good fishing spot!” Toptunov called out after a while, walking back towards him, with branches and twigs in his arms. He let them drop on the rock circle in the ground, and squatted to arrange them. “It’s over there, not far. There’s some logs to sit on, it’s kind of cozy, actually. I think you’re going to like it.” He talked while he worked, moving the branches and sticks into a neat little pile, with care and consideration. Akimov didn’t know what he was watching until he felt his eyes settle (yet again) upon Toptunov’s crotch, slightly exposed due to an unzipped zipper. Despite the fading light he could still make out what he saw, and when he realized he was looking at flesh and not cloth, he nearly choked. “Le-Leonid, you-your zipper is down,” he spat out, almost choking on his spit.

Toptunov  _ huh?’d  _ and instinctively lowered his gaze down to his trousers, noticing. He hastily zipped them up. Akimov could clearly see his entire face flushed red.

“Thank you for noticing,” he said, his eyes down.

“I didn’t- I mean, just letting you know,” Akimov mumbled, ending his doltish stumbling with a soft grunt. “Light won’t last much more! Let’s go see if we catch something,” he proposed, hoping to salvage the situation.

“Yes!” Leonid lit up. Akimov saw him swallow; judging from the way his rather large Adam’s apple bobbed, quite nervously. He handed his friend a rod, grabbed the rest of the fishing gear and Toptunov the flashlights, and both made their way to the fishing spot.

  
  


* * *

Much to his relief, they eased into their usual comfortable silence as they waited for the fish to bite. They only noticed the time when the water began reflecting the dying sun’s orange, purple and pink upon the sky above. Following soon after, a cacophony of bugs and birds announced the nightfall. They’d done well; after all, 4 small fish among them (2 of them being Leonid’s) was not bad for the first trip. Akimov hoped they’d catch more next time, and that there be a next time.

Toptunov looked quite pleased with himself, spirits higher and much more carefree than he’d been earlier. He had taken off his blue flannel, remaining in his thin white t-shirt as well as removed his trainers and rolled up his trousers. He stood with his feet in the water by the bank of the river, letting the water crawl along over his feet. The cool, refreshing sensation made it impossible for him to contain his glee and he was laughing, openly and loudly, kicking the water and splashing it everywhere, encouraged by the smile on Akimov’s face.

“For someone with no experience you did quite well, Lenya!”

“Beginners’ luck, I suppose.”

“I find it hard to believe you’ve never fished before!”

“I swear on Comrade Lenin himself!” Toptunov raised a hand dramatically to his chest. “I’ve been a city boy my whole life… but I can get used to this. You, on the other hand, are a master. Thank you, sensei!” He made a goofy bow that Akimov just had to giggle at.

Akimov began taking apart his gear and putting it away while he talked. “My father used to take me. Most weekends. Hunting too. A man’s sport, he used to say”.

Toptunov nodded and walked out of the water to sit on a rock and put his socks and trainers back on. Once done, he took a seat next to Akimov. He felt like a cigarette, but Akimov was humming his favorite song softly and he found that much more enjoyable. Dusk soon gave way to a starry night and above them lay the firmament, unobstructed by artificial light and pollution; extended, brilliant and vast. Jupiter and Mars shone brightly, like beacons, to the northeast. They both lifted their gaze at the cosmos and watched, feeling so insignificantly small yet so absolute.

“Do you know anything about astronomy, Leonid?” Akimov asked, his voice almost a whisper.

“A little. It was one of my favourite subjects in physics class. Why?”

“Above your head. Do you know what star that is?”

Leonid looked up. If memory served him right, the configuration directly above him was the constellation Aquila. That would mean, above him was....

“Altair.”

“Good job, comrade!”

“And above you is Lyra. That would make the star over your head... Vega, right?”

“Right.”

“Oh. That is kind of... romantic, actually.”

“So you know the story?”

“My mother told it to me when I was little. It was one of my favourites. Though I always found it quite sad. The weaver princess and the cowherd prince, who were destined to be apart, but could only be together for one night a year. Forbidden love.”

“I’m impressed, engineer Toptunov!” Akimov said teasingly, softly nudging his blushing friend and pushing into him with his shoulder. “Though, that would make me the princess, right?”

Leonid contemplated the star above Akimov’s head. “I suppose it would. Fear not, Princess Sasha! I will protect you. I wouldn’t be a good prince if I didn’t.” He tried his best impression of a gallant prince, but came off looking like an awkward jester. He giggled happily.

Akimov laughed freely at the spoof, but immediately a shadow crossed over his thoughts, much like the one wandering in front of the moon at that moment. A final seal broke in him; slipped, and then out it came. “Even... if it’s there... some things are not possible. They can only be together in the darkness. Because they’re not really supposed to be.”

Leonid blinked in confusion. “What do you mean?” He asked innocently but Akimov continued cryptically.

“It’s forbidden. Surely they knew that... but the cosmos keeps bringing them together... why…”

_ You’ll stop this, Aleksandr. Enough of this nonsense! Or I’ll make sure you’re sorry,  _ said his father.

“Sasha?”

“You know it’s wrong too, Leonid. I know you do.”

_ Why don’t you like her, Sashenka? She’s so pretty… and she likes you so much, _ said his mother.

“Sasha, what are you talking about?”

“Why do you... and when you... why did I invite you... why did you come?”

“Sasha, calm down. Breathe.”

He had dropped the rod he had been disassembling and hadn’t noticed because the trembling had gotten that bad. Leonid instinctively grabbed Sasha’s shoulders, trying to steady him. That’s when he felt the sheer force of Sasha’s anguish, making him shake uncontrollably. His breaths were coming in very short and very fast and he kept rambling, like a broken dam and all of Sasha spilling out, mercilessly.

“When you look at me, that way… I can’t breathe, Leonid! When I look at you… I have to run away or-or... I don’t know what to do! I don’t know what to do, Leonid, because what I want to do will land me 8 years in a labor camp and end both of our careers and our lives, in the blink of an eye. And I could never do that to you.”

“Sasha…”

“I’ll resign. I’m so sorry, Leonid. I’ve ruined everything. I’ll disappear. I’ll-”

He couldn’t continue because his mouth was suddenly covered by Leonid’s, and he couldn’t get up and run away, because Lenya’s hands were holding him firmly in place. He was too agitated to feel anything other than his own panic but a deeper part of him registered the moist softness of Leonid’s lips upon his own and how his breath came in and out, setting a slow, deliberate rhythm meant to be followed. His heartbeat ringed in his ears and his eyes burst with tears, but his body was slowing down, bit by bit. Leonid did not move; he did not push nor pull away. He just pressed in softly and edged his body closer. He breathed into him, almost as if to teach him how to again. Leonid squeezed his arms when it was time to inhale and released them to exhale. After an indefinite amount of time they were both breathing normally, albeit a little slower than usual. Leonid released him and sat a little bit back to regard him.

“Is that better? I’m sorry, I didn’t know what else to do.”

“I... that was…” He at a loss for words. After having lost so many, he decided to answer with a sigh.

Leonid lowered his face, but sported a small smile. “I can’t deny that I’ve been wanting to do that for a while now. Though, I apologise if it wasn’t good. I don’t have any experience.”

“That... was your first?” Akimov asked, eyes widened in surprise.

“Yes. I’m sorry if it was awful.”

Akimov felt his heart tugged and aching. He lifted his hands up to Lenya’s face and cupped it. “It doesn’t count then. Let’s make a better first.”

Lenya brought his own hands up to wrap around Sasha’s hold on his face. He rubbed him softly with his thumbs. “I’ll let the princess guide me,” he gently quipped, and closed his eyes so Sasha could take the lead.

* * *

“When did you know?”

Leonid heard the question and looked back at Sasha, then glanced back into the fire, letting his thoughts wander. — At twelve. You?

Sasha pondered. “Fourteen. A friend of my sister had a crush on me. I had known her since childhood. We were good friends, we were close. So, I tried... but, I couldn’t. I really hurt her. I still don’t forgive myself for it.”

“I never tried again,” he concluded, staring into the fire as well. Sasha tightened his grip on his mug, and brought it to his lips to take a sip. The tea tasted bitter.

“When did you know... about me?” Leonid inquired. His eyes looked like embers in the dark.

“Immediately. You?”

“Same.”

They squeezed the hands they had intertwined and set down the mugs they held in the others, so they could better hold each other as they went in for another kiss; one of the many that had followed. Leonid caught the hang of it all quickly; allowing himself to steal the lead from Sasha here and there and try out a soft bite or lick, or even a curious tongue, eager to explore. He was a fast learner, his Lenya, Sasha thought, feeling elated at calling him  _ his _ .

“I have something to confess,” Lenya spoke in a breathy voice and broke the kiss, making the other groan in frustration.

“What?”

“I jerked off in your bathroom this morning.”

“You did what?”

“I couldn’t help it! You saw. Don’t deny you didn’t. I know that you look,” Leonid said, slanting his eyes at the tease. Sasha raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Alright, alright, I admit it. It’s just so hard not to. You’re so beautiful…” his voice trailed off, ending in a soft peck to Leonid’s neckline.

“I have something to confess too,” Sasha whispered against Lenya’s soft skin.

“I’ve done that too, quite a few times, since I met you!”

Their laughter filled the forest and the two friends clung to each other as they allowed themselves a moment of joy unthreatened by fear. Sasha glanced at the fishing rods and gear scattered by the side of the tent (in a hurry) and the remnants of their dinner on their plates (hardly touched), yet any possible embarrassment easily dissipated in the face of something else gained; much, much more admirable. They’d have leftovers for dinner and breakfast and might not catch a wink of sleep but for the first time in his life, he felt no regret, no hesitation, and no shame. He wanted to hold on to that for as long as he could, for he could not imagine it lasting long.

“We’re done for, aren’t we?” Lenya asked, but in his voice there was no worry at all. Only a smile, as wide and brilliant as the constellated sky.

>>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. The story Leonid talks about (and the title of the fic) refer to an ancient fable by the same name, about a prince and princess represented by the stars mentioned, who could only be together once a year; it’s a tale of forbidden yet fated love. I thought it fit them well, and also, Leonid’s interest towards Asian culture. Reference: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Cowherd_and_the_Weaver_Girl
> 
> 3\. “There is no sex in the USSR” - This phrase is from a popular meme in Soviet times; a lady said on a TV show that there is no sex in the USSR because it’s something nobody talks about. It became part of the cultural fabric of the times, to not acknowledge the sexual lives of people, much less homosexuality, which was considered both unexistant, a mental disorder and a criminal offence. Additionally, the story of Leonid and the girl was inspired by the guy’s story in the video. Reference: https://youtu.be/LE60922n1Cw
> 
> 3\. Turka is a turkish coffee pot especially for the kind of coffee Lenya gave Sasha as a birthday gift. Here is a picture of what it may look like: https://www.fromrussia.com/leopard-copper-cezve-large.html
> 
> 4\. On Soviet cigarettes: Kosmos was a popular brand of cigarettes considered superior to the brand Prima, which was very cheap but low quality, and the cigarettes didn’t stay lit. Prima’s went for about 20 kopics while Kosmos were around 70, which meant those who bought them were usually considered usually a little bit more cool. Reference: https://youtu.be/SBQDqp9RtoY
> 
> 5\. I apologise if my rendition of a fishing / camping trip is a little off, I don’t have much experience in either, just a bit, and it was hard to find a good reference for this, so I made it as best as I could.
> 
> 6\. The Tetris pocket game I refer to was a very popular children’s toy in the 80's in the USSR. Tetris was invented by Soviet mathematician Alexey Leonidovich Pajitnov (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tetris). Lenya being a math geek, would have loved playing it! I got the reference here: https://www.rbth.com/history/329564-legendary-russian-toys-to-play
> 
> 8\. Thank you for reading ❤︎


	5. Dark Night Of The Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally... the smut chapter 😆

“What time is it, Lenya?”

Lenya looked down at his watch.

* * *

21:43

“Are you sure? I can sleep in the car and take the front seat. It’s comfortable enough.”

“No. It’s fine. I want... let’s just go according to plan.”

“Alright.” 

“...”

“But if you... if you feel uncomfortable... just tell me, and I’ll go, OK?”

“Ok… I don’t want you to go, though.” 

“Stay,” Leonid urged, pulling Sasha back inside the tent. Sasha seemed intent on finding any plausible excuse to not remain there and instead sleep in the car, thinking Leonid would prefer that, but in truth the only one uncomfortable with the entire arrangement was Sasha; the architect of it all. 

“You know, I think I left the coffee pot outside. I should go look for it,” Sasha gave it another try, but Leonid yanked him back by the waistband of his trousers. He pulled too hard however and Sasha landed completely on top of him, pushing the air out of his lungs and making him groan in slight pain. 

“Lenya, are you alright?” Sasha asked, rolling on his side so Leonid could breathe again. 

“Ugh... yes, I’m fine. But Sasha, please, stop trying to escape. I’m not gonna kill you!” Leonid snickered, propping himself up on an elbow. It half-amused him, half-hurt his feelings slightly that Sasha was so nervous about having to share the tent with him for the night. 

“If it makes you feel any better, I’ll go outside to undress while you take off your clothes in here. Then you tell me when I can come back in. It’s dark and I won’t see anything,” he offered. It seemed to quell Akimov’s nerves somewhat. 

“... alright.”

* * *

22:19

“Wow this is so small, we can’t even stand up!” 

“Yes, I know, I’m sorry it’s so small.” 

“Seems like we’re gonna have to lay down here like this... you know... right next to each other…”

“Lenya... please stop torturing me…”

“This was your idea, you know.”

“I know. I clearly did not think this through.” 

“I think you did, rather,” Leonid replied, shifting closer. “You’re the most thorough person I know. I’d have a hard time believing you didn’t plan all this.”

“I seriously didn’t. The camping, yes, of course, but... this... I never thought it would... I mean…” Sasha said, letting out all the air he held inside. He felt the exhaustion of the entire day, plus about 15+ years of tension, weight on him all at once. “Ah, I don’t know what I mean. I have no idea what to do,” he sighed, defeated. 

Leonid’s light and teasing mood evaporated the moment he saw the expression on his friend’s face. Sasha looked more than just afraid. There was clearly more going on than just nerves and anticipation. 

“I just know that I don’t want to hurt you,” Sasha said, making Leonid’s heart sink and a chill go through him. 

“You’re not,” Leonid reassured, bringing his nose close to Sasha’s, who instinctively closed his eyes at the proximity. “You don’t have to worry about that. I know you’d never.” He grazed Sasha’s lips with his own, foregoing words for a kiss, to express how much he understood and how much he cared. Or at least he hoped Sasha would grasp his meaning this way. 

Nevertheless, kissing seemed to continuously veer towards something else; towards want and need and the basest of desires. Soon the kisses became moans and comfort became longing. Leonid instinctually let himself fall into this darkness, not afraid of it at all. He had always been curious of the unknown, an explorer at heart. Since childhood, his greatest wish had been to travel the cosmos, and when that plan did not pan out, he went into the mysterious world of atomic energy. This was, like many things, just another mystery - undiscovered territory waiting to be known. As dangerous and sometimes taboo as nuclear power and just as fascinating.

For Sasha, it was a rather different story. As the kiss deepened, he fell deeper and deeper into the same darkness, which to him, was haunted by ghosts. Filled with the nightmares of his childhood and doomsday visions of a dismal future should he ever be discovered. A lonely place, full of self-hatred. There was nothing to look for in the darkness. 

“Let’s try to sleep, Lenya,” Sasha said, breaking away suddenly. “I’m content just laying here with you. This is already more than I ever thought I’d get.” 

Leonid sighed, slightly frustrated, but let his head fall softly on the blankets. He settled himself and took Sasha’s hand, bringing it to his face so he could feel him smiling.

* * *

23:11

“Sasha, are you awake?”

“You can’t sleep, right?”

“Yes.. how did you know?”

“Well, I could hear you. But mostly, because you’ve been poking me in the back for the past hour.”

“Poking? Oh! I’m sorry…”

_Sleep be damned,_ Leonid thought, and propped himself up on an elbow. He tugged at Sasha’s shoulder, urging him to turn around. As soon as he’d done so, he brought a hand up to Sasha’s face, and pulled him in for another kiss. God, he would never get tired of this. Yes, maybe he was too insistent, impatient and stubborn, but he could not imagine doing anything else. _This must be what they meant,_ he thought, thinking of teenagers fooling around with their first crush, and realizing this was indeed the very first time for him. The first time feeling like he couldn’t wait to touch, or to lock eyes or hold hands. The blooming of his adolescence had come late but had at last come. 

Like the teenager he was at heart, his enthusiasm made itself known again, poking against Sasha’s belly as they kissed softly in the dark. 

“On better thought, never mind. I am not sorry,” Leonid whispered, pecking Sasha’s lips softly. 

He felt Sasha smile into his lips and hold his head firmly, guiding them both down on the blankets. They lay side by side, listening to each other’s breathing, letting hands memorize the creases and crevices of cheekbones, noses, chins, ears, eyebrows, lashes and dimples. Leonid squinted his eyes; he wanted to be able to see Sasha without his glasses, a Sasha that looked so much younger, livelier and happier. 

Sasha was simply content to lay there, watching Leonid giggle and hum like an overly excited child on some exciting new adventure. His unabashed innocence was easily mistaken for naivety, but there was nothing naive about Leonid Toptunov, who knew very well what he was doing as he moved closer and pressed himself to Sasha. Sasha felt his cheeks grow hot as his body registered the erection pressing into him, and responded in kind. He had never done this before with another person. He had never even wondered what it would feel like. So he had no words for the tingling and the heat rising inside and the rocking of his hips was completely spontaneous. Yet, it worked perfectly, as if orchestrated, choreographed or done; some other lifetime ago. 

When Leonid began to moan into his mouth, he shuddered. He did not know what should follow and his body threatened to go out of bounds, should he let go of the reins. _This is already enough, this is already too much,_ he convinced himself, slowly disentangling from Leonid’s grasp and laying back down on the covers, catching his breath. He heard Leonid next to him bemoan his misfortune but settle down into the blankets again. 

Fully awake now, Sasha relit the oil lamp and hooked on his glasses so he could see. Leonid observed him from his place on the ground, but he was smiling. Despite both of them having seen each other in their t-shirts and briefs before, Sasha felt quite self-conscious in the revelation the light offered then. He had seen Leonid in even less at work, of course, but the context mattered. 

“How are you feeling now? Better?” Leonid asked. 

“Yes, much better. I’m sorry about earlier, Leonid. I don’t know why I reacted like that,” Sasha said, laying back down on the blanket, though letting his gaze fall. “And I did not think on what I’d do because I never thought this could even happen,” he added. 

“I never thought I’d have this either,” Leonid agreed. “Ever. I’d given up.”

“Me too.” 

“So…”

“So.”

“What do we do now?”

They looked at each other in the half light of the oil lamp, shadows and fears dancing all around them. Yet, as they searched their minds for words to fill the silence and mollify unspoken doubts, their minds collapsed in the moment present between them. With only one possible course of action left, Leonid did the only thing that made sense to him.

He lifted Sasha’s glasses off his face silently, setting them aside by their heads, to keep safe while he dove in and kissed him deeply, not intending to pull back anymore. Sasha finally allowed himself to melt into it, letting out soft sighs and hums, audibly releasing his tension and nerves. Leonid kissed him slowly and deliberately, running his hands up and down Sasha’s back to help him release the tension and slow down his breathing, like he’d done back at the riverbank. However, he found as they kissed, deep and soft and slowly, that if had felt fatigue before, it now escaped him, replaced instead by a pleasurable ache deep down and a rising heat in his chest. Soon, he was licking Sasha’s lips and even biting him, their breaths growing ragged and hungry. Sasha groaned into his open mouth, while Lenya snuck a hand up his shirt, relishing in the soft fur-like sensation of Sasha’s chest hair upon his fingertips and just how incredibly hot Sasha’s entire body felt. 

Sasha began to work his own hands up Leonid’s chest, from underneath the t-shirt, sensitive fingertips caressing and exploring everywhere. Their hands wandered hands all over each other, furiously and desperately. Without realizing it they pressed their bodies together until Leonid was almost atop Sasha, his left leg firmly locked between the other man’s. He could feel a hardness pressing against his own, which promised to drive him over the edge and then, Sasha’s hips began bucking into him, adding more friction to their erections that were still trapped by two layers of briefs. Lost in the moment, Leonid’s control of his motor skills slipped and he pulled far too hard on Sasha’s shirt, making a long, loud tear down the front. 

“Oh shit!” he cried out. Obscenities only aroused him more, as well as Sasha apparently, whose hips picked up speed. Leonid found some thread of reason in the brief interruption to extend a palm over Sasha’s chest, detaining him momentarily, so he could straighten up a bit and take off his own obstructing shirt. 

“I need to see this,” Sasha whispered, and felt for his glasses. He put them back on and leaned back on an elbow to look up at Leonid, now shirtless and breathing heavily. He was covered in a sheen of sweat and his light blond hair was darkened by moisture. Even with the glasses on, the light from the oil lamp was not enough to make out many details, but it did serve to paint a picture (a very erotic one) of a half-naked, wet and flushed Lenya, with lust-filled eyes, that he was sure he would take all the way to his deathbed. 

Leonid noticed that Sasha watched him transfixed for what seemed like an eternity, and feeling suddenly too exposed, began to cover himself up with his hands. It was then that Sasha realized he had been staring, and doing nothing more. 

“Don’t,” he pleaded, with words and by pulling Leonid’s hands away. He knew Leonid had always been quite self-conscious about his figure, as he had discovered that night in the bathrooms. He found his uniqueness endearing and beautiful. Otherworldly, was the word he liked to use in his head. It was himself he was ashamed of. Stocky and chubby, and not much to look at, he knew. He hesitated undressing then, somehow afraid that this would be the thing that would deter Leonid from further advances. 

“I won’t if you don’t either,” Leonid agreed, with a peculiar darkness in his eyes, and moved his hands to the hem of Sasha’s shirt, wrapping it around his fingers. He waited silently for Sasha to decide, rearranging his legs so he was sitting in front of him. Finally, Sasha raised his arms above his head, gesturing that he was ready to be deprived of his torn shirt. 

Leonid removed it, mussing up Sasha’s sweat-drenched hair in the process and knocking his frames slightly askew. Sasha adjusted them, but it was quite useless to keep them on; dirty and fogged up from their hot breaths and sweat in the small, polyester lined tent. Leonid took them again, and folded them down in a safe corner, reassuring Sasha that they’d be alright, and that, if he couldn’t see much, he could just touch, _touch everywhere Sasha,_ he offered, _touch me and see for yourself._

Sasha obeyed, at first shyly, then slightly more confident, encouraged by Lenya’s soft mewls of pleasure. He let his hands wander all over the soft, creamy skin. First, up towards the chest, beaded with sweat, sliding his fingers over the angled contours. He wandered close to one of the nipples and let a thumb linger there, then pressed. He first tried rubbing, causing soft, delicious groans to escape Lenya’s lips, then tugging - getting heavier moans and even a few obscene pleads that resonated in his own hardness. 

He then got an idea. 

Leonid was half gone in pleasure when he suddenly felt a hot, moist, slithering thing moving across his nipple, licking. Then lips enclosing around it and sucking. 

“Fuck! Ahhhh…” he cried out so loudly Sasha stopped abruptly, worried he’d hurt him. 

“I-I’m sorry! I-” Sasha quickly pulled back, apologizing (habitually), but Leonid grabbed the back of his neck and slammed their faces together in a kiss harder and hungrier than before. “Sasha, Sasha… I want, I want...” he chanted in between kisses and licks and bites. He opened up his legs and straddled Sasha, crushing his hips into him as hard as he could until their erections met, now separated only by the thin fabric of their briefs. He rocked his hips ravenously, creating heat and friction. His composure was escaping him and the briefs were getting wet with anticipation ooze. Yet, Sasha’s hands remained around Lenya’s face and neck as they kissed, and Lenya could feel Sasha’s hesitation under the layer of unbridled lust. 

“Sasha…” Leonid whispered in his ear. If his hips didn’t explain it clearly enough, his hands would have to do it. He closed his fingers firmly around the hand that Sasha kept locked around his neck and yanked it, uncompromisingly, off his face. He then pulled off both of their thin cotton briefs down, low enough for their erections to press directly into each other, skin to skin. The sensation was unlike anything he could have ever imagined, balancing him on the brink of madness. He put Sasha’s hand around both their cocks, carefully wrapping his fingers. And then he urged him by saying “please.” 

Sasha looked him straight in the eye. Leonid felt as if he was peering into his soul. “I don’t want to hurt you, Lenya,” he whispered. He sounded so scared.

“Sasha... this isn't pain.” Leonid pressed into him, moving slightly up, which created a sliding sensation, helped by the precum and heat. He struggled to speak at this point but he managed, in a hoarse voice. “This is pleasure.” 

He then put his hand over Sasha’s and began to stroke. 

Neither lasted long. Within a few seconds of quick pumping and bucking into each other, both spilled, slick and hot, all over their bellies. Leonid couldn’t help but continue rocking his hips into Sasha as he came, relishing in the sensation of their cocks sliding over each other as he rode the waves of pleasure. He arched his back as he did, feeling Sasha’s hands hold on to him tightly as his friend also released himself with shakes and spurts. Their breaths slowed and evened out after some time and finally they collapsed exhausted onto the blankets, somehow still mindful enough to not allow the puddles on their bellies to fall onto the covers. 

Sasha’s ruined t-shirt served the post-mortem purpose of a clean up rag.

* * *

01:21

Leonid woke up to the sound of ragged breathing. It took him a good amount of time to refocus and make sense of his surroundings. Even though it was pitch black, he could make out Sasha’s shape in the darkness and he just knew, from the sound of his breaths, that he was having another fit. He sat up and put his arms around Sasha to steady him. 

When his vision adjusted to the dark he made out Sasha’s eyes darting in all directions, wild and unfocused, and heard his breath haggard again, quick and uneven. He lay slightly hunched over, looking undone and despondent. His face was red and flushed, but he left his hands over Leonid’s while they looked at each other in the darkness. _Breathe Sasha,_ he told him, over and over, _breathe, breathe, breathe,_ until Sasha was breathing and the shakes slowed down enough. 

“Sasha,” he began, pressing their foreheads together, beads of sweat making the skin slippery and hot. “Listen to me. I want to do this. All of it. But only if you want it too. I don’t want to feel like I’m forcing you.” 

“If you want something, tell me. But you have to tell me. Tell me what you want. Always. Those are the rules.”

“I don’t want to hurt you, Lenya…”

_He keeps repeating this..._ Leonid thought. “You’re not Sasha,” he told him.

“What if... we’re wrong?”

Leonid cupped his face. “Does it feel wrong to you?”

“... no. It doesn’t.” 

  
  


_It’s the only thing that actually feels right,_ Sasha thought. 

  
  


_You’re disgusting... you’re not my son..._ his father echoed in his head.

  
  


“Sasha!” Leonid cried when Sasha suddenly got up and scrambled out of the tent. He followed him out, feeling suddenly startled by the breeze, reminded of his nakedness. Swinging his head around, he searched for Sasha. He wandered about a bit until he heard retching and found him by a nearby tree, vomiting. 

He neared with caution and felt the open air until he found Sasha’s shoulders, and grabbed firm ahold of him. Through his palms he could feel the waves, one after another, as Sasha emptied himself of everything they had eaten that evening and who knows what else. He couldn’t see him but he could see it all clearly in his mind’s eye: the face contorted in pain and anguish, sobbing and shaking in utter helplessness. His own empathic heart caved in and he too cried, though he tried to not be as loud and obvious.

“Sasha, do you want to go home?” he asked the crumbling man.

He felt a nod. He then helped him to his feet and walked him back to the tent, to begin packing up. 

  
  


* * *

02:48

He was starting to feel drowsy again so he maneuvered as best as he could to fish out another cigarette and light it while keeping the steering steady. He managed, and inhaled long, letting the smoke fill his lungs and the heat wake him, exhaling out the tiredness.

Leonid peered to the side and contemplated his passenger. Sasha Akimov lay hunched over himself, his face propped up on a hand and forehead pressed against the window, gazing vacantly at the scrolling landscape. He wore a black t-shirt now, that he had had the foresight of packing. Paired along with his black-rimmed glasses, the new ensemble gave him a slight bohemian look that Leonid found himself surprisingly fond of. He would have liked to run with the thought and taunt Sasha to take it off, relishing in fantasies of what could follow but his friend’s disposition was gloomy and not at all arousing and quite worrisome to be frank. He knew Sasha was mortified about earlier but that he’d feel like himself once they were home. _Home... wherever that is,_ he thought, not knowing anymore. It was perhaps best to simply focus on getting there soon. 

The radio didn’t work (and he reckoned Sasha was not in the mood for singing), so there was nothing to distract him and keep him awake. Despite wanting to let Sasha relax the rest of the journey he fished for a conversation, needing the diversion.

“Hey Sasha... I’m sorry about your shirt. I’ll get you a new one, I promise.”

Sasha unglued his eyes from the scenery outside the window and finally looked at him. He just shrugged his shoulders but at least gave him a small smile. “It’s alright. It’s just a shirt.” 

“I know, but that black one looks really good on you, you know? If I wasn’t driving, I’d be taking it off,” Leonid took a crack at a joke. He was hoping for a witty comeback, something like ‘this is my last one!,’ or ‘you’ll have to pay for them both, in some way,’ but Sasha disappeared back into his silence, face back on his hand, eyes lost on the side of the road. A chill ran through Leonid; he had never seen Sasha, or anyone for that matter, look so utterly crushed. 

Sasha had looked forward to this so much... he remembered, and felt his eyes begin to water. 

“I’m so sorry about the trip Sasha,” he tried again. Sincerity was perhaps the best course of action if he truly wanted to reach him. “We’ll do another one!” he suggested, chipper. “I’ll take care of it. Don’t worry about anything anymore, Sasha, I’ll take care of you.”

“You don’t have to take care of me,” he heard Sasha say. He sounded sullen. Leonid frowned. 

“You took care of me when I got drunk. And you always do at work. How can I not do the same for you?”

“It’s my job to take care of you, though.” 

“So that’s all it is? A job?”

Leonid squeezed the steering wheel, finding himself growing upset. This was not the conversation he had been prodding for. 

“No... I mean, you are my responsibility, but no, that’s not all it is.” 

He relaxed his fingers. 

“I want to, you know? I want to do things for you too, Sasha.”

“I don’t want to trouble you, Lenya. You don’t have to.” 

“And you think, what, that I can’t? That I can’t take care of you too?” 

“No, that’s not it. I just don’t think…” Sasha said, looking down into his hands. He avoided looking at Leonid again and it was frustrating him to no end. 

“What?” Leonid snapped, getting slightly irked. 

“It’s not worth it, Leonid. To worry about me,” Sasha replied, raising his eyes. 

Leonid looked at him, wide-eyed. Sasha finally met his gaze so now Leonid could study it through the thick, smudged lenses of his glasses. He couldn’t hold back a shudder as he looked into him. The vibrant, deep ocean blue of his eyes now looked completely grey. 

“I... perverted you... I have to protect you... from me,” Sasha said in a dead voice. 

_This is wrong,_ he thought. Leonid swerved the car to the shoulder of the road, and stopped it there abruptly. In quick and heated succession of maneuvers, he killed the engine, pulled back the hand brake, opened up his door and got out, slamming it back shut. He circled the car with long strides, over to Sasha’s door and opened it. 

“Get out,” Leonid ordered with uncharacteristic authority. It was such a flip that all Sasha could do was stare, dumbfounded. Leonid repeated the order again, but when Sasha failed to comply he grabbed his arm and yanked him out of the car.

Instinctively, Sasha raised up his arms, preparing himself for impact, but instead, felt Leonid push his body into his and wrap him in a tight embrace. 

“Who did this?” Leonid whispered into his neck. 

“Did what?”

“Tell you that you’re bad. That this is wrong.”

Sasha didn’t reply for a long while. Leonid felt him breathe softly into his shoulder, evenly and deep and for a moment thought he had fallen asleep, there, standing up pressed against him until he heard his low voice murmur, “My father…” 

“... and my mother. And brother, and sister. The Army... the Party... everybody,” Sasha added. “Didn’t they tell you too?”

“I got the same lecture. But I don’t want to believe them. And neither should you.” 

Sasha listened to him in stunned silence, pulling back and noticing the fire in Leonid’s eyes. “You know where I stand, Sasha,” Leonid said, pressing his forehead against Akimov’s, surrounding him with his whole presence. “You’re going to have to make a choice. You can either go on believing or decide for yourself. We’re men of science, Sasha. We know the truth. We know when something feels wrong. We do it all the time at work. We can tell when something doesn’t make sense or feels right and to me, _this_ ,” he said, waving his finger back and forth between them, “is right.”

“But I can’t convince you. And it’s not my place to,” Leonid sighed, letting his eyes fall. “It’s ultimately your decision.”

Sasha stood there, foreheads pressed, wondering silently, _What is the right thing to do?_ The words scrolled past his mind, like a banner.

“Leonid,” he whispered, making Leonid look up, catching his eyes again. “There’s something I want to do. I’ve been wanting to do.. for a long time.” He placed his hands atop Leonid’s shoulders, who cocked his head in curiosity. 

“What is it?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he turned Leonid around and pushed him hard, back against the car.

“Just... Please trust me on this.” 

  
  


* * *

03: 08

Sasha kissed slowly, but deeply. One of his arms looped around Leonid’s thin waist while the other went under his arm, hand all the way up to his cheek to support his face as he kissed deep into the skinny man. Sasha pushed a leg between his, first sliding against the inner thigh, taunting. He then moved upwards to where he felt a growing bulge. Sasha pressed himself into Leonid’s groin and bucked, accentuating each thrust with a kiss and a moan directly into his open mouth. 

Leonid kissed back just as hungrily. He reciprocated, equally, if not more aroused. _This is good,_ Sasha thought, but he wanted him closer to the edge. 

Right now he had him cornered over the door of the back seat, on the opposite side of the road by the edge of the forest and while there were no other motorists on the road at this hour, he felt that, for what he wanted, it would serve better to be inside. Without breaking the kiss, he felt for the handle and opened the door, indicating to Leonid to get inside. 

“Not all the way in. Just sit on the edge,” Sasha instructed. Leonid did so, perplexed at first but too flustered with lust to try to deduce Sasha’s plan. 

He lay down on the seat as Sasha climbed over him and reclaimed his mouth in a kiss, from a more dominant position. Sasha shifted his weight to his left arm so as to not crush Leonid underneath him but also freeing his right hand to roam down - towards Lenya’s hardening erection, giving him a few lazy tugs over his trousers as he sucked on the swollen lips. Lenya all but moaned senseless incoherencies into his mouth, begging for more. 

“Ahhhh… Sasha, just fuck me already,” he implored, impatiently. Sasha smiled into his mouth, licked his tongue and chuckled softly at his petulance.

“In time. But for now, there’s something else I want, so I’m going to take it.”

Leonid’s eyes flew open, taken aback at the audacious tone of the statement and watched as Sasha deftly unzipped and pulled down his trousers with a harsh tug, letting them pool around his feet. The night air made Lenya shudder and shrink slightly but Sasha’s hands were soon upon him, and oh, how much better it was without that thick layer of cloth! Sasha tugged and stroked him, soft enough not to hurt him but hard enough to cause his toes to curl and make him sufficiently pliant. It was not long before his briefs were once more wet with oozing precum. Leonid instinctively pushed back into Sasha’s hand each time he tugged, aching for more friction than he was being allowed. Sasha chuckled at the attempt but denied him the takeover, removing the giving hand from his cock and pressing it into his chest, pushing him back into submission. He then snuck it under his t-shirt to tease his nipples again, now well aware of the effects, and shifted his entire weight to completely immobilize him. Leonid had no choice but to yield completely; to the tongue fucking his mouth, the hand twisting mercilessly on his nipples and the hot bulge sliding hard against his own. 

He wanted to feel Sasha again without the frustrating impediment of clothing so he tried to sneak a hand down there, where they both met. But Sasha caught him, releasing his aching nipple and grabbing hold of his wrist. He removed himself from on top, swiftly, momentarily disorienting Leonid but before he could have used the opportunity to sit up Sasha had lifted Leonid’s shirt and moved down by his stomach. He was licking him there. Leonid was paralyzed, it was simply too electrifying. 

Sasha licked; or rather, he sucked, very slowly at first and sighed hot air into his flesh. Defeated, Leonid let his head fall back into the upholstery of the seat, breathing in the stale scent of old cigarettes and the salty, distinct smell of his own cum. He wasn’t quite there yet, but oh so close, and Sasha was taking his sweet goddamn time. Sasha pressed his face and a smile into Leonid’s soft skin when he felt him writhe and squirm from underneath. His willing victim was trying both to escape and take charge of his own pleasure by rubbing up against him, harder and harder. So, Sasha redoubled his efforts and stood his ground, asserting dominance of the pace. _Oh no you don’t. I’m in control now._

He moved down, feeling the edge of a line of coarser hairs and an intensifying smell that urged him further south. _I’ll have to do this again in the daylight,_ he thought. Wrapping his fingers on the hem of the briefs, he pulled down, but very, very slowly. He heard a faint ‘fucking hell’ that came out of Leonid, and tried his best to not laugh as he kept steady on his mission. He pulled down again and with a flick of his wrist, the briefs were finally low enough.

Finally, he let his tongue reach its destination, and licked the tip of Lenya’s cock. 

He had wondered... perhaps since even younger than 14, what this very thing would be like but never lingered on the thought long enough to truly discern the details of a vivid, secret and very forbidden fantasy. Too scared to even think of it, he had pushed the wishes and desires aside long ago, or had tried to at least but they would always rise to the surface. On the edge of a dream or the unpoliced wanderings of his precocious mind when lessons at school would be too boring to mind. Suddenly, his classmate’s eyes would be bluer, and his lips redder, and it would be simply stupid to not want to kiss him and yet that is exactly what his father warned him against, lest he be forced to send him away to some military school to be set straight. He almost had to laugh now, as he remembered it all. _Oh Father,_ he sighed inwardly. _You couldn’t have done anything, even if you tried. And oh, did you try..._

The humiliations, the taunts of his brother, to whom he was mercilessly compared to all his life... the pity of his sister and the grief of his mother. All their hard work and effort, wasted. Their Sasha was a lost cause. 

_I did everything that you wanted, and I did it right. And it was never enough. And now... now I want to do what I want._

_And I want this…_

He allowed himself now what he didn’t back then; to wonder what he would do, if he had the opportunity in front of him, where would he start? 

Maybe with the tip...

He ran his tongue down it, noting the salty, slightly bitter taste and finding it much to his liking. It made him want to wrap his lips around it and suck, so he did. Mm, it tasted really good. 

“Oh my God, Sasha... Oh my fucking God…” he heard Lenya gasp out. He grinned at the blasphemous litany; his friend’s hardwired atheism coming undone. _Oh Lenya..._ he sighed in his mind. _I’ve been wanting this all my life and I’m just getting started._

He went further, letting the hot hardness slide down slowly into his mouth, gently, so as to not wake his gag reflex too soon. It became very evident to himself that he had been practicing for this. Unconsciously, whenever he drank something, controlling the rate and speed at which he swallowed. Everything he had ever been told was dirty and shameful about himself rose to the surface; the way he liked to eat melted ice cream, allowing the cream to fall down his throat without pushing it. The memories made the knot in his throat disappear. His body seemed to remember on its own and now it was part of him. He dove in further letting the tip through the entrance of his throat, relaxing it instinctively to let it through. Lenya was, proportionally, as long here as the rest of his limbs would indicate so he still had quite a bit to go. He willed the walls of his throat to close and create pressure, tightening around Lenya as he pulled his head back and sucked. 

Thin, slender fingers carded wildly through his hair and pushed his head down, hard. He let himself be guided thinking this time it was only fair, as he wanted to know the exact details and limits of Leonid’s endurance. He let Lenya set the rhythm, but added the details; licking the underside of the length on the way up and sliding his closed mouth over it on the way down, repeating it over and over. Leonid had stopped uttering words and fell on loud, animalistic grunts and an iron grip on his hair to indicate his desires. Sasha kept wondering what else his lover wanted and what he himself wanted to take; wanting to feel everything, taste everything, so he let his tongue wander down and lick the rough skin of the testicles and also finding that much to his liking. He wandered there again with his hands, cupping them gently and then he got the idea of caressing them softly as he went back to sucking Lenya off, faster and faster. He continued to wonder what he himself would love and thought that, maybe, if he jerked the cock with his left hand while fondling the balls with the right, and sucking hard, ohhh yes, that would make me cum, maybe it would make Lenya cum too, and just as he finished thinking it, he felt Lenya’s staggering thrusts hitch wildly, and a hot, salty, bitter stream fill up his mouth unheralded. 

With care, he moved Lenya to the side and spat out the cum all over the back seat. He would leave it unmentioned when he returned the car to his father, he decided. 

* * *

04: 56

Leonid was too tired to move so Sasha took charge of dressing him and helping him into the passenger seat. He was out like a light. Softly, as to not wake him, he stole a cigarette from his pocket and lit it. He inhaled, perhaps a little too quickly, and coughed. The aftertaste returned and he could taste Lenya again. He liked it. 

After tucking Leonid in the front seat, he circled back and got behind the wheel, starting the engine and returning to the road, homewards. _Home... wherever that is,_ he thought. He yawned loudly and took a long drag of the cigarette to wake himself up. Again he was too quick and it sent him on a coughing fit that teased his raw throat. He glanced over to Leonid, worried about him waking, but his dear friend looked exhausted and completely asleep. 

Sasha exhaled out the long wisp of smoke and squinted. Daybreak light hit his weary eyes. He let go of a pensive sigh, moving the cigarette around on his lips, and deciding he rather liked having Lenya’s things in his mouth. 

>>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ch.6 up next week ~  
> Thank you for reading 💛


	6. There Is No (Gay) Sex In The USSR

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ch.6: Toptunov and Akimov navigate their secret (and very illicit) relationship through their unsuspecting world.

_ [Monday morning] _

“What time is it, Sasha?”

Akimov looked down at his watch. Or rather, his wrist, remembering he didn’t sport one.

“Check yours, Lenya. Though I wager it’s about six.”

Leonid looked out the window, sleepily. The day’s first rays of light hit the side of his apartment block, making the windows shimmer. There was no one outside yet, but it would not be long before schoolchildren came down to start their trek to school and he didn't want to alarm and pervert the poor innocent youth of the Soviet Union, so he stretched out his neck towards Sasha to kiss him good morning before there could be any witnesses. Sasha leaned into the kiss, happy and sad, as this was their last one before who knows when.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come in for coffee? Before you go?” Leonid drawled with a yawn, stretching out his arms and popping his joints loudly.

“I’d love to. But I should return this old thing to my dad, as soon as I can. We have work tonight. I want to have some time to sleep before we start and it’s a bit of a drive.”

“Ok.... ah, Sasha, um…” Leonid couldn’t make up his mind, not so much about what to say, but how to ask.  _ So what happens now? When do we see each other again? Besides work, of course... When can we... you know...? _

Sasha seemed to be of the same mind. The ticking of Leonid’s watch was loud as they sat looking at each other, accompanied by the rumble of the engine, the spurts of the exhaust and the cheerful chirping of swirling sparrows on the birch trees nearby. A myriad of alternatives collapsed in their minds under the weight of the weekend’s epic events. Eventually, answer time ran out as the first children’s voices were heard coming down the stairs, already screaming and fighting with each other that early.

Leonid gave Sasha a tired smile and a hand squeeze, letting his thumb caress the soft skin lovingly. Sasha whispered a cheeky ‘sleep well, sweetheart’ softly, which made Leonid chuckle. He intertwined his fingers with Leonid’s, then released them, returning his grip to the steering wheel. However, he did not let go of Leonid with his sight, watching as the tired, lanky man gathered his belongings in his rucksack and once ready opened the door of the passenger seat and got out. Sasha let his gaze follow him to the door of the apartment block door and watched him cry out startled as it swung open and a couple of children darted out, squealing. Leonid nearly dropped his bag and Sasha couldn't stifle his laugh, but Leonid caught it in time, and opened the door. Just then, a young girl, a high-schooler, came down the stairs and opened the door at the same time. She jumped slightly aback at almost running into a tall and very much in the way Toptunov.

“Oh! You startled me, sensei!,” the girl cried.

_ Sensei?  _ Sasha cocked his head at the foreign word.

“Oh,” Leonid shook his head in surprise. “Oh! Marina Valeriyevna! I’m so sorry, I did not recognise you!”

“Well, I wasn’t wearing my uniform at the last tutoring lesson you gave. I had that cute green jumper on, remember?” The girl twisted her foot as she talked, making Sasha realise,  _ oh, she has a crush on Leonid. _

“By the way,” the girl continued, excitedly. “I wanted to thank you! Thanks to you, I passed my physics exam!” She threw her arms around Leonid, encircling his midsection so easily she could almost reach back to hug herself. With her face pressed on his chest, Leonid was frozen on the spot. Sasha as well, unable to drive away. However, the girl pulled back suddenly, making a funny face, and making Leonid blush loudly, for he realised she had caught on to the reeking remnants of very forbidden and illegal activities.  _ Great, I am perverting the bright youth of our glorious nation. Gulag, here I come. _

“They really must wear you to the bone at work, Leonid Fyodorovich. You stink like hog and look like a ghost!” The girl laughed, wiping a tear from her eye. Leonid took the joke in stride.

“I, uh, I haven’t had a chance to shower or gotten much sleep the past couple of days.”

“I can tell!” The girl giggled, pinching her nose. She then noticed the man in the blue Lada who had been staring at their interaction. “Who is that, in the car?” she inquired.

“That’s uh- oh, you’re going there,” Leonid began to explain but the girl was already walking towards the vehicle.

“Hi! Are you Lenya’s friend?” Marina asked Sasha, who sat paralysed and mute in the driver’s seat.

Upon noticing Sasha’s momentary loss of speech, Leonid chose to answer for him. 

“Rina, this is Comrade Akimov, my supervisor. He gave me a ride home... from work.” He lied in the last bit, not sure why. Something told him he was going to have to start doing that frequently from now on.

“Oh I see. It’s very nice to meet you. Please don’t wear my math tutor to the bone like that. I have finals in a few weeks!,” the girl joked.

“I, uh, won’t,” Sasha agreed, still slightly speechless.

The girl gave them both a bright smile and spirited away, running after her friends and the trail of people that were now flooding out of all the other apartment blocks, in loud, wild packs. The car, Sasha and him were soon surrounded by hoards of schoolchildren, workers, housewives and babushkas, all marching out to fulfil their State-appointed duties. Reality, bright like the sun, dawned upon them.

Leonid slid halfway through the passenger window to offer Sasha a brief explanation. “I, uh, tutor some kids from the block here, from time to time. Neighbour’s daughter.” He paused to chuckle and scratch his misshapen head fluff. “Smart girl. Wants to be a nuclear physicist! Can you believe it?”

Sasha smiled back, but his brow soon furrowed. “Leonid, be careful.”

Leonid’s gaze darkened somewhat as well. He knew what Sasha was referring to. From now on, they’d have to be very careful. The roles they played in the lives of people suddenly shifted, and vice-versa.

“See you at work, Comrade Supervisor,” Leonid said, in his best inconspicuous tone and slid out of the car. However, he snuck Sasha an eye wink when he felt unseen and walked into the building.

“See you at work, Leonid Fyororovich,” Sasha said to no one in particular, hiding the smile in his moustache and drove away.

* * *

_ [Monday evening] _

Nothing had changed. The white canvas uniforms still smelled too strongly of bleach. The cafeteria food still served watery borsch and sometimes stale bread. The control room was still noisy. The calibration of some of the controls was still pending... 

Everything was as he had left it, and yet everything looked new to Leonid; as if he were seeing it for the very first time. Had that stain always been there, on the supervisor’s desk? Had some of the letters always been missing from the labels above the temperature readout dials? Had Stolyarchuk and Kirschenbaum always looked so tired? Had Sasha always looked so...  _ cool _ ?

Leonid turned to look at Sasha, who was diligently jotting down their work for the night in the log book. He observed how Sasha would write, pause, look up at what the others were doing, and look down to write again. Sometimes, he would rise and approach Boris or Igor and ask them a few questions. He was often helpful, fond of going over the tasks with them, sometimes even for them. It dawned on Leonid that despite spending most of his evenings watching over them like a mother hen, going over checklists and logs and shooting them the occasional smile, Aleksandr Akimov could do any of their jobs perfectly; in his sleep, if he were so compelled.

It was time for “lunch,” the half-way point meal they always had between 03:00 and 03:30, but Leonid wasn’t at all hungry. He was mostly still worn out from the long weekend and the leftover giddiness that had refused to allow him pre-work sleep. He stretched in his chair letting out a loud yawn and rotating his neck in circles to expel the pain and tension, watching as Igor left eagerly, to the mess hall no doubt. Stolyarchuk walked out as well, carrying something in his hands that he kept from view (unsuccessfully) as he exited the control room. It was just him and Sasha now, alone, and he just had to wonder,  _ is it going to be like in the dream? Will we sneak touches and kisses here, hidden between the coming and going of people? Can we even do that? Should we? _

“Sasha, are you going to eat?” Leonid asked him, getting up from the chair.  _ Let’s see what Sasha says, and I’ll follow his lead,  _ he decided.

“No, I’ve got too much work here. You go ahead,” Akimov replied, adjusting his sliding glasses yet not looking up from the binder he was writing in. Leonid shuffled a little on his feet, unsure. He voiced his hesitation with some sounds, which Akimov waved away with his hand.

“It’s OK, really. Let’s focus on work,” he reassured, reading Leonid’s mind.

“Alright. I’ll catch you later,” Leonid said, as neutral as possible. He grabbed his cigarettes, hat and opened the door to leave.

“Ouch!!”

Leonid walked face first into Stolyarchuk, who had been striding quickly on those impossibly long legs of his, back to the control room without looking ahead. Because they were of similar height, they bumped foreheads and noses loudly, making both wince and curse out in pain.

“Bloody hell! It’s like walking into steel beams! What are your bones made of, Toptunov?!”

“You’re not particularly soft yourself, Borja,” Leonid was rubbing the bump of his nose when his pale, blue eyes landed on the thing Stolyarchuk had been carrying in his hand, now scattered across the floor. A picture of a very naked girl being penetrated obscenely by a faceless male torso across the glossy spread of a magazine lay in front of their feet.

“What on earth?!” Leonid blurted out, picking up the magazine. Stolyarchuk stammered, cursing under his breath. “Leonid. Please. Don’t say anything.”

“Is this why you always take so long in the bathroom?” Leonid snickered, leafing through it. His eyes widened the more he looked, taking in the raunchy pictures. He could not help letting out a few laughs, increasing Stolyarchuk’s mortification.

“Let’s get out of here.” Stolyarchuk led him by the elbow out of the corridor to the open area overlooking the turbines and pumps. He figured it empty by now, with Perevozchenko, Khodemchuk and most absolutely Yuvchenko in the mess hall, eating.

Once there, Leonid spread out the magazine so both he and Boris could go through the pages together. Boris paused at a few, revealing which girls and which poses he liked best and why. Leonid listened fascinated; Boris unraveled before him, opening up like a portal to a new dimension. He turned out to be someone far more interesting than Leonid had ever given him credit for. Stolyarchuk had always struck him as slightly uptight, a bit on edge, nervous and twitching, as if his entire body was a wind-up machine. Perhaps it was all this pent up energy and perhaps that was the reason Stolyarchuk felt the need to ‘release’ it so often, not bothered to wait until his shift ended for that sort of thing.

“Dasha wants to wait until marriage,” Boris sighed, draping his arms over the railing. “It’s driving me crazy.”

Leonid turned to him, head angled curiously to the side. “You haven’t... ever?”

“Yes. I mean, not with her, but other girls…” Boris trailed off, noticing something in Leonid’s eyes. “Don’t tell me... you... Well I’ll be damned, Leonid Fyodorovich! You dog!” His voice carried loudly across the echoing pump room as he grabbed Leonid in a headlock, providing him of a good old fashioned noogie.

“Congratulations on that long-overdue cherry popping! Who’s the lucky girl?” Stolyarchuk prodded, his eagerness to know reflected in the bird-like way he cocked his head and brought it up closer to Leonid’s face. “Her name is... Sasha,” Leonid lied, letting his gaze fall for a moment.

“Oh, really? What a coincidence,” Stolyarchuk mused and Leonid asked him, interested (and slightly afraid), “what do you mean?”

Boris fished a cigarette out of his breast pocket and fumbled in his trousers, searching for the matches. “It’s perhaps serendipitous she has the same name as your best friend.”

“Best friend?”

“Don’t play dumb, Toptunov. Everyone knows you and Akimov are joined at the hip! It’s rather cute, I think.”

When Leonid failed to give an answer to the remark, Stolyarchuk instead placed a large, reassuring hand on Leonid’s shoulder. “It’s good to have a friend like Sasha. He’s a good man.”

“Yes,” Leonid agreed, staring ahead vacantly. “He is.”

After a few silent puffs from Boris’ cigarette, Leonid ventured to inquire about the origin of the contraband. “How did you get this, Boris? Also, why?”

Stolyarchuk exhaled smoke in silence, regarding Toptunov intently with those dark, intense eyes of his. “I know a guy. Most of what he gets is from West Germany, but he can get American ones sometimes as well, though those are more expensive. Why? Are you interested?”

“No! I mean, not particularly. I was more interested in knowing why you would want to read this stuff. I thought... you were content enough.”

Boris sighed. “I am. We... me and Dasha... we do other things. You know…” 

He averted his eyes, feeling suddenly bashful. Leonid found it ironically humorous, standing there, looking at explicit German porn together. “I just wonder sometimes... there is so much I don’t know... and that I wish I could try…”

“Like what?” Leonid was genuinely curious. “Is there more?”  _ What else is there that I don’t know?  _ While he scanned the pages and wondered, taking in the sights, Boris cleared his throat, silently took the magazine from Leonid’s hands and flipped to a specific page. When he had found it, he placed it between them again, pointing at an article.

“Can you even read German?” Leonid asked, eyeing the foreign script.

“I learned with this,” Boris replied, sniggering. “I know all the terminology for what this is - ‘backdoors’ action - if you know what I mean.”

“‘Backdoors’?”

Stolyarchuk let out another resounding laugh, this time making Leonid feel quite juvenile. “Leonid, did anyone explain to you how to  _ not _ get girls pregnant?”

“Pregnant?” He blurted out, eyes like saucers.

“You do know that’s what happens if you have sex, don’t you? I assume you’re being careful?” Boris asked, slightly concerned.

Leonid stayed silent. He suddenly felt very out of his depth. Drowning, in fact. Stolyarchuk wandered over the text with him, translating several passages in Ukrainian for his benefit, describing the how-to’s of anal sex for women, and in some instances men, a detail which caught his particular attention. He intuited, however, that inquiring further on the benefits of the practice for males would be pushing his luck.

A watch alarm - Stolyarchuk’s - announced that their break was over and they must return to their posts. Borja rolled up the magazine with care, as if putting away an important scroll at the closing of a ceremony, and slapped Leonid’s shoulder heartily.

He handed Leonid the magazine, as a loan for the rest of the week, with a caring warning. “Be careful, Leonid. I’ll be damned if you become a father before me!”

“I... don’t think you need to worry about that, Borja,” Leonid replied sheepishly, hiding the thing inside his oversized smock.

They marched together back to the control room. As they were about to enter, Akimov peeked out, greeting them on his way to the bathroom. Leonid instinctively met his eyes and smiled, a detail that Boris did not miss.

“You should ask Sasha to be your best man, should you marry Sasha,” Stolyarchuk whispered, inching close to Leonid’s ear. “That would be a rather amusing situation!”

“Yes,” Leonid replied, a little flatly, watching Boris greet Kirschenbaum and check the dials on the pumps. “Yes, it would be.”

* * *

_ [Wednesday] _

He groaned in the agony of tedium and ennui as he donned the white smock on and adjusted his hat, ready to begin the shift. And to think, it was merely the middle of the week…

Spending time away from Sasha (at least in the private sense) had for some reason become increasingly unbearable. He found himself waking several times from sleep, needing to... relieve himself, the frequency outmatched only by his prepubescent years. How had Sasha become such an essential part of his existence? Such a need, almost like air.

He did not know whether seeing him everyday at work was a blessing or a curse. It was so comforting but also so frustrating, to see him everyday yet not be able to touch or be touched by him. To have to behave as they were before; that which had been so easy and natural once now felt so artificial. Nonetheless, this was his new life, the price to pay for being who he was. This was the only way, Sasha had said, and Leonid knew he was right.

Instead of sleeping, he had spent the better part of the afternoon looking through Boris’ magazine, marvelling at everything he did not know and everything that had been kept away and forbidden by his capsuled world. He sorely wished he owned a German dictionary so he could decrypt the secrets of ‘fe-lla-ti-o’, an odd term but made easy to understand with the pictures. Basically, what Sasha had done to him by the roadside that night, that he could not stop thinking about since. He decided he wanted to do it for Sasha; this thing the magazine also calls a ‘blow job’ - apparently something girls do to please men (or men to men, Leonid confirmed). It had felt absolutely amazing and he wondered if Sasha had ever been on the receiving end. He wanted to be the one to show him, if he hadn’t. He smiled inwardly, thinking of Stolyarchuk. They were alike in a rather unexpected way; both wanted to try it all.

That evening, at ‘lunchtime,’ he joined Perevozchenko and Khodemchuk instead of his usual company. The older men were a calmer presence and of the few that did not engage in locker room teasing. That being so, it was not the reason he had deliberately chosen their company. He had done so on this occasion to avoid the constant badgering and interrogation that had become his life at the power plant now that Stolyarchuk had disseminated the news of his romantic courtship to the entire workforce.

“He looks absolutely smitten!,”commented Perevozchenko, smiling warmly from behind his glass of tomato juice. “Reminds me of when I was about to get married.”

“Enjoy it while it lasts, young man. It all changes afterwards,” Khodemchuk added, sipping loudly on his watery borsch without looking up.

The comment made Leonid pause before digging into his food. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that, after a while, especially after the kids come along, forget about getting anything any more. You’d be lucky to have some fun once every couple of months,” Perevozchenko explained, not adding ‘like me’ though it was incredibly clear that’s what he meant to say.

Khodemchuk then interjected with what he felt was an intelligent solution, with proven personal experience. “Send the brats to your parents, if you have any in the countryside, during vacations. Gives you at least a month’s worth of privacy, if you need it. That’s what I used to do,” he concluded, wiping his mouth with the napkin.

“Don’t have them,” Perevozchenko replied. “Neither does my wife. We’re stuck with them at home. But at least we have the dacha. It’s spacious enough.”

“Good thinking,” Khodemchuk conceded. “You should get on that, Toptunov. No woman wants to marry a man without a dacha,” he punctuated using his spoon for effect.

“How many children do you have, Comrade Perevozchenko?” Leonid asked, trying to shift the attention away from his lack of dacha.

“Two boys. But the wife wants to try for a third, hoping for a girl.”

“How’s that going? I don’t see you too busy,” Khodemchuk teased, making Perevozchenko chuckle. “It’s difficult to... when you have a one-bedroom flat,” the other man replied in excuse of himself. 

Khodemchuk crossed his arms, leaning back on the chair, a smug look across his face. “See, this is what you don’t want, young Toptunov. Be smart and do as most men do. Nobody will blame you if you find release outside the home, when things start to get boring. Well, wife may blame you, if you’re not careful!”

Valery frowned at first, but then smirked as he counterattacked. “Is that why Alina left you?”

“Took the kids too,” Khodemchuk replied, nonplussed. “At least I can just bring the mistresses home now.”

Leonid laughed, mostly because the two men laughed first, but in truth, he did not find particular amusement in the nonchalance with which they discussed what was essentially infidelity. He could not imagine engaging in the practise regardless of how normalised it was. At the same time however, he felt uniquely unqualified to consider the issue since he was never to marry anyways. He wondered, if he were the sort of man that could… Would this ‘option’ be one that he would feel drawn to, in trying times.

Khodemchuk’s dimples adorned his face as his laughter died down, making Leonid speculate on how handsome he must have been in his youth. The smiling man in the grey curly hair dropped a hand on his shoulder and flashed him another dimple-garnished smile.

“It all fades after a while. It’s just the way it is, Toptunov.”

“Valera, you might as well tell him to forget it! You’re making it all sound so bleak,” Perevozchenko objected loudly. “Look at this, Leonid,” he said as he fumbled with his back trouser pocket, eventually pulling out his wallet. He opened it and shoved it close to Leonid’s face, so he could see the picture inside. “This is my sweet Evgeniya. Fifteen years of marriage and I still love her like the day I first saw her. Don’t listen to this bitter old man,” he pointed to Khodemchuk with a head nod. “True love has nothing to do with how much sex you have.”

Khodemchuk just gave Perevozchenko another disarming smile. “Hah! Says the man that hasn’t gotten laid since ‘81!”

Before there could be any comeback, the P.A announced the end of the break. Chairs screeched loudly as the men began to rise from their seats and file out of the mess hall. The two Valerys followed Leonid out the door, lingering shortly for some more farewells, uplifting comments and ‘sagely’ advice.

“Honestly speaking, I’m happy for you, Toptunov. If anyone deserved this, is you,” Perevozchenko said, squeezing his shoulder.

“Be careful, Toptunov. Love is a tricky business,” Khodemchuk left him with the words, whistling happily as he caught up to Perevozchenko.

Leonid nodded to his elders before he turned the corner to his corridor, noticing this was the third time this week someone had warned him to be careful.

* * *

_ [Friday] _

The week ended the way it had begun; with little of consequence. He dropped the white uniform in the dirty pile and walked out to the lockers, to slip back into his street clothes, thankful to be done. There was a ruckus in the dressing room, the men were excited to have a whole weekend off, a rarity these days. The scheduling gods had smiled upon them at last. Leonid could not help an amused smile ghost upon his lips, thinking how Sasha surely had something to do with it, and certainly for their own private benefit. Perhaps this would be a more frequent occurrence henceforth.

His thoughts kept returning to the previous weekend; to the forest, to the riverbank, to the stars above that had witnessed their first kiss. To the tent, the heat inside and the kissing, rubbing, sucking; to everything else. He was so desperate to do it all again, not having a mind for much else since the very moment he stepped out of the car Monday morning. Since then, time had slowed down to an infuriating crawl. He just wanted to be with Sasha, soon, because he already knew that whatever time he was fated to have with him was not going to be nearly enough.

He then darted mentally to the future; to the upcoming weekend with Sasha and the surprise he planned to give him. His excitement, mixed with desire, pooled in his stomach as he walked out of the administration building and towards the shuttles. Sasha had gone on ahead, cautious as ever, but promising to visit sometime on Saturday afternoon without going into much more detail than that. Leonid held on to the promise like a rosary and grabbed the handle to enter the bus.

“Leonid!”

He turned around to see Stolyarchuk running towards him, slightly winded. Boris got very close to him, shielding them both from the view of the bus’ windows with his broad back and jacket. He pulled out a rolled up magazine from an inside pocket and shoved it into the one inside Leonid’s own jacket. Leonid began to mumble something but Stolyarchuk shushed him.

“I think you need these more than me. Have fun with Sasha,” He walked away giving him a parting wink.

Leonid stood by the side of the bus, speechless, until the driver’s patience ran out and barked at him to get inside. He scrambled on, staggering down the aisle and glaring at the driver that had denied him a moment’s worth to grab a seat before driving off.

* * *

_ [Saturday] _

The much desired weekend off finally came. Leonid went straight to bed at around seven in the morning, but could not sleep much past ten, knowing Sasha would come by later that afternoon. There was nothing arranged besides an estimate of his arrival at Leonid’s flat but there was also need to be tight with the planning. After all, it was implicitly understood what they both were looking forwards to do.

He made sure to venture out to the grocery store to stock up on food before his guest would come by, knowing they would be quite famished easily. He grabbed a couple blocks of rye bread and some cheese and sausages to accompany that with. He also stopped by the liquor store for a couple bottles of wine and one of vodka, which was never superfluous at his table.

Sasha arrived at half past four and he was not through the door for more than ten seconds when his face and arms were upon Leonid’s, devouring him in a hungry greeting kiss. Their desire for one another was like a wayward engine, once ignited, impossible to stop or slow down. Leonid’s fingers quickly undid Sasha’s buttons and Sasha’s hands fumbled with Leonid’s belt buckle. Despite the erratic touching and grinding, they were swiftly undressed and en route to the bedroom, leaving a colourful trail of garments like breadcrumb indicators of their whereabouts.

_ The food will have to wait...  _ Leonid thought, as he searched for the doorknob to his bedroom in the blind, without breaking contact with Sasha’s body and tongue.

Sasha breathed in the scent of Leonid’s skin when he finally had him pinned under him, atop the covers of the bed. He smelled of soap and sweat and something else, that particular Leonid scent that awoke uncontrollable urges deep within. He licked the trail of faint hair that pointed downwards, towards his favourite spot. He decided he wanted to take his time, not lowering the briefs, but lingering his mouth on top of them, mouthing kisses and licks to Leonid’s cock from across the layer of cloth. It was easy; he was already completely hard.

Leonid wanted nothing more than to have Sasha’s hot mouth on him as soon as possible and let himself go, but he had been looking forward so much to Sasha’s surprise and he did not want to let Boris down (who, for some obscure reason, he felt indebted to for the ‘knowledge’). Leonid had run the simulations in his head as if it were a test at work. He knew, in theory, what should happen, what movements he would have to perform and what it should feel like. It was now time for the field experiment.

“Sasha... let me,” Leonid breathed, pleading. Sasha looked up from between his legs, which in itself was a sight already so arousing he almost backed down.

Carefully, he slid upwards and sat on the bed, urging Sasha to switch places. Sasha obeyed, smiling, and rested his head on the pillows with a deep sigh. Leonid then straddled him and went to move down as Sasha had done on him minutes before, but Sasha held on to his hips, firmly, and pushed him upwards instead.

“Come here. Please... just for a bit,” he said. “Just a little, and then I’ll let you go.”

Leonid nodded, a bit puzzled at first, but soon enough understood when he found his hips being positioned a beat above Sasha’s chin. Sasha then began to do the same mouthing and licking as before, but now that he had Leonid’s crotch hovering above his face he had access to his balls and it was those he was teasing the most. Leonid had to grab ahold of the headboard to not fall square on Sasha’s face as his legs were quivering wildly.

Then Sasha lifted a finger to move the briefs aside... just a little.. and then he felt a tongue, hot and moist, licking him from all the way down and up and around... and the feeling was indescribable. Leonid moaned loudly. He felt so hard he thought he could pierce his briefs. They were getting wet with precum as Sasha moved closer to his head to lick it.

If he wanted to do this he was going to have to stop Sasha, which at this point felt like committing high treason. “Sasha... I’m sorry, but... let me take the lead this time.”

Sasha paused sucking on one of his testicles to listen to his request, and conceded. “Forgive me, I couldn’t help myself. I think I love having all of you in my mouth!” He chuckled and released his finger from the elastic band of the briefs, letting it fall back into place. He added a hot, breathy kiss on his erection before he let him go.

Leonid chuckled as well. He teased Sasha, rocking his hips and rubbing his hard-on and balls all over Sasha’s face and they both laughed at their own stupidity in earnest.Once satisfied, he got to his serious business. He slid down Sasha’s body, pressing against him as he took his mouth in a deep kiss. Leonid rutted into Sasha’s groin as they kissed, feeling him harden as they tongued and sucked on each other. Once he felt Sasha sufficiently hard, he began to kiss lower; on the chin then licking the neck, later playing with the chest stopping to lick, bite and tease the nipples slightly, caressing the belly and finally arriving at the awaiting prize.

Sasha decided to prop himself up slightly, to have a better view as Leonid licked the inner side of his thighs, seemingly choosing the scenic route. Sasha truly enjoyed it all, but at the same time, it felt a bit odd. He felt he should be the one giving pleasure rather than receiving it. Nonetheless, precisely because of this natural inclination, he felt obliged to allow Leonid this as he knew it would make him happy, and so, exhaled deeply to relax into Leonid’s ministrations.

Leonid licked slowly, trying to find himself in pace and style. The magazine said girls were very sensitive in this area and that kisses and licks here would make them wet quickly, so he figured it would have an analogous effect on men. Apparently so, for he noticed that with each lick and kiss that he left as he inched upwards, Sasha’s cock would involuntarily (or voluntarily?) twitch. He tried it a couple more times, amused at how he could manipulate Sasha’s arousal before even placing his mouth on it, like a puppet on invisible strings.

He pulled the briefs down, now ready for business. Sasha was... wider than him, and much hairier there, and for an instant he felt intimidated. He had no idea how he would fit all of him in his mouth, it looked almost impossible. He hoped his practice with the popsicles earlier would pay off but he also realised he probably should have used something... thicker.

“Try the tip? I also didn’t know what to do first and that seemed like the logical place to start,” he heard Sasha say, hearing his silent worries. Leonid blinked, realising he was face first into Sasha’s dick and all he was doing was staring. His face flushed, embarrassed, and he swallowed nervously. He was losing nerve and feeling unsexy by the second.  _ This is a mess,  _ he thought.  _ I can’t do this... I’m such an idiot! _

“Think about what you like, Lenya,” Sasha said, catching his eyes. He propped himself up completely, sitting on the bed while Leonid remained on his stomach, eyes slightly stinging with emerging tears. Sasha brought his hands to Leonid’s face, cupping it, and steadied him with his ocean blue eyes, full of warmth. “Do what you’d like to have done to you. I’ll love whatever that is,” he suggested, rubbing soft circles over Leonid’s cheeks with his thumbs.

Leonid closed his eyes and pondered. _ I liked it when he grabbed me.. _ . so, he wrapped his fingers around Sasha’s erection and began to stroke. The depth and urgency of Sasha’s moans awoke his own desire. He could feel his hardness pushing him upwards on the bed as he stroked Sasha. It was as if he were pleasuring himself.  _ This feels so good… _

Sasha bucked hungrily in his hand, and the feeling of control, of having Sasha literally in the palm of his hand, made Leonid rock his hips involuntarily into the bed, drunk on his own pleasure. He could feel Sasha’s cock harden more and more, and become slippery and wet as the oozing clear cum slid down the shaft, heightening the pleasure deliciously. Leonid felt his mouth water at the sight, and at last felt ready to poke his tongue out and lick. He ran it from the underside, bottom to top, in a quick stroke, curling the tip at the end and taking in the taste. Sasha was sweeter than he;  _ seems fitting _ , he said to himself, inwardly smiling.

“Don't stop Lenya... you’re doing fine…” Sasha moaned. Leonid smiled widely. He had never seen Sasha so... unburdened and open. I want to make him feel like this all the time.

He continued; resuming the stroking and complementing it with circling licks to the head, swirling around the tip in teases and nips. Sasha contracted, he could feel the testicles tightening. He ventured to fondle them, remembering in his body what Sasha had done, feeling how the delight increased so much more. Leveraging himself to his elbows for support, he fondled with the left hand and stroked with the right, sucking the head, going mid-length and meeting the rest with his hand. Despite not being what he had originally planned it was working wonderfully. He would have plenty of time to perfect his technique. For now, Sasha was rocking wildly, movements increasingly erratic and uncoordinated and his hands tugged Leonid’s thin fluffy locks desperately.  _ He must be close... should I move...  _ he wondered as he sucked and stroked, but Sasha did not let him guess. “Lenya, watch out,” he cried out, moving Leonid out of the way with a tug of the hand on his neck, before the white stream would hit his face, instead falling on Leonid’s shoulders.

“I’m... sorry... sorry, “ Sasha gasped, out of breath and struggling to move. Leonid simply smiled into his thigh. He bent over the tip of Sasha’s cock again and gave it one last suck which caused a full body shiver to go through the exhausted Sasha, who let out a groan. “Hm, forgive me, but I like the way you taste, quite a lot!” Leonid laughed. Sasha laughed with him. “I love the way you taste too.”

Leonid slipped on top of Sasha when he stopped trembling, letting their sweat-slick bodies slide against each other. He kissed Sasha slowly, matching his breathing to his, to help him slow down. It seemed so natural to do now, it was their thing, he decided in his head. Sasha ran his hands down Leonid’s back, lost in the kiss, caressing Leonid’s waist and encircling it protectively. “My Lenya,” he declared, breathy against Leonid’s lips.

* * *

_ [Saturday evening] _

They fell asleep like that, embracing each other on the dirty covers in the nude. It was already dark outside by the time they woke up and they found the entire house in darkness. Leonid lay looking at the ceiling light sleepily, groaning at the thought of having to get up and turn it on when all he wanted to do was just lay there until morning. His stomach, growling, seemed to object to that idea. So did the stickiness in his entire body, which begged for a wash.

“Sasha?” Leonid whispered into the man’s neck, making Sasha stir and open his eyes. 

“Hmm... what time is it?” He asked, rubbing his eyes. Leonid looked at the bedside clock. “Almost nine, it seems. Hungry?”

Sasha sat up. “Oh. Time flies, doesn’t it?” he chuckled, letting his gaze fall on Leonid’s face. He pecked his lips lightly. “Yes, I’m famished, actually.”

“I think we should wash first, though. What do you think?” Leonid said, sitting up as well.

“I think you’re right as usual, Leonid Fyodorovich,” Sasha replied, smiling. They stretched out their limbs, groaning loudly, and got up to make their way to the bathroom, for a nice hot shower. Together.

Naturally, they tried again in the shower, feeling inspired by the sensation of hot water and how it made Sasha’s skin slick and glistening. Aroused by the image of Sasha naked and wet and smiling, Leonid rubbed up against him, their erections hard and awake once more as they kissed under the warm rain of the shower. But the steam, warmth and Sasha’s hand on his shoulder and back, kneading them in an exquisite massage, slowly fogged up Leonid’s brain, making him abandon his plan to perfect fellatio in a single day. He instead relished and leaned into the touch, finally caving in to Sasha’s nurturing touches. Sasha decided to return the gesture and jerked him off, tugging him rapidly with the help of water and soap. He brought him to finish easily and quickly, aided by Leonid’s already heavily accumulated want. They finished the bath by washing each other with care, peppering with kisses each gesture and finalised with a careful pat down of each other with fluffy towels. Sasha wrapped Leonid in a navy blue terrycloth as if he were a crepe and gave him littered kisses on his nose before he let him free to get dressed.

By the time they were done it was far past midnight. Exhaustion won over hunger, their limbs and lids too heavy so dinner was foregone for an ‘early’ night. With just enough energy to drape a fresh set of sheets and remove the dirty ones, they tucked in for the night together in the far too small bed, not minding the lack of space at all. They somehow fit their bodies snugly. Sasha carefully folded his glasses, leaving them on the bedside table and Leonid pulled the covers on them, letting his own eyes relax again in the quiet darkness of the room. _ I want a big sandwich tomorrow _ , Leonid mumbled sleepily into Sasha’s bare shoulder, as he settled in. He smelled of soap, sleep and Sasha.

* * *

_ [Sunday morning] _

The forgotten bread, cheese and sausages were devoured for breakfast. They ate ravenously, not caring much for propriety any more in anything that involved each other’s company. Leonid talked animatedly as he chewed, about the week’s highlights, the tedium of work and the odd re-adaptation syndrome he felt there now. He reminisced on how he felt on those first few weeks at the plant, when Sasha was but another intimidating supervisor amongst many. ‘Intimidating’ queried Sasha, a little offended at having been regarded that way once upon a time, but Leonid reassured him that it was a generalised evaluation; all supervisors made him nervous (‘especially Dyatlov’ he pointed out, to which Sasha replied ‘I’d be pressed to find someone whom he doesn’t terrify!’).

The bottles of wine and the one of vodka were stored away for later use and they finished off the meal instead with hot drinks; tea for Leonid and coffee for Sasha. Sasha felt enlivened by it, falling into a long dabble on their upcoming work schedule and the checklist of tasks they would have to complete by morning, lest Sitnikov give him a good earful of complaints about the ‘lazy night shifters’ at the weekly supervisor’s meeting. Leonid listened, lost in the sea blue of Sasha’s eyes.  _ What is this? Feels like drowning, but without the fear... _ He wanted to talk about it, to run his hands over it. He couldn’t stop thinking about it. He needed to know more.

“Sasha... I.. did you like... it, last night?” He asked, changing the subject to the highlight of the night’s events. “It’s not.. exactly what I wanted to do, but... I hope it was still alright.”

“It was incredible, Lenya! Anything you do is incredible. You’re incredible,” Sasha asserted, squeezing his hand.

Leonid sipped on his tea and continued talking. “Borja gave me some... advice.”

“Boris? You told Stolyarchuk?” Akimov was somewhat struck, fear noticeable in his voice.

“No. We just talked about some... things, in general. How to... do certain things... but he actually gave me this magazine…”

“What magazine?”

Leonid paused, thinking it would be easier to explain with the object itself. He disappeared for a few moments to retrieve the reading material from the top drawer of his desk in his bedroom. Once in hand, he came back to the kitchen and pulled up a chair next to Sasha, spreading it on the table to show him.

“Is this...? This is... West German? How did he get this?” Sasha wondered out loud, leafing through it.

“Some guy at work, he said. But, look here…” Leonid traced a finger across the article he and Boris had discussed, bringing it to Sasha’s attention. Sasha skimmed the contents with his eyes for a minute, widening as he understood. “This word... ‘gay’. What does it mean?” Sasha asked, saving the word’s place on the page with his finger.

“I looked up some information on it. Apparently, it’s what they call... ‘homosexuals’ in the West,” Leonid explained, finding the term difficult to utter, like a lump of coal in his throat. His whole life he had been taught that this word referred to pederasts; evil, disgusting men that preyed on children. It was difficult to use the word on himself now. However, from what he had been learning, there was a different school of thought elsewhere in the world, that saw men like him as a simple alternative inclination, and they had a different word for it. 

“I looked up that word as well,” Leonid added, disappearing into his bedroom once more. He came back with a thick book in his hands. When he opened it, Sasha realised it was an Ukrainian-English dictionary.

“Look. It says: “happy, joyful.” Leonid read out loud.

Akimov read the passage carefully, several times. “So, they consider homosexuals ‘happy’ men in the West?”

“I think it’s just a euphemism they use there for... men like us. But I thought it was interesting that its meaning is simply ‘happy.’ “

“That's interesting, indeed…” Sasha said, rubbing his chin pensively. “Did you know that the Bolsheviks considered homosexuality as ‘bourgeois debauchery’? Boris should be careful. If they catch him with this stuff they’ll think he’s a fascist dissident.”

“Is that so?” Leonid mumbled, imitating Sasha’s chin-rubbing gesture as he swiped his fingers through the magazine, flashing pieces of naked girls’ skin and parts. “I think Borja will be fine. He’s very careful. You and I, on the other hand... we should probably move to the Bourgeois West, Sasha.”

Akimov arched a brow in amusement and interest. “Oh really? Why is that?”

“Because we already have sex like capitalists!” 

Leonid blurted it out laughing and Sasha could not help but join him. If they were to be doomed, might as well be doomed together.

* * *

_ [Sunday morning - later] _

They both mourned Sasha’s untimely departure from Leonid’s apartment when the time came, making mock crying faces and laughing at them. Sasha gathered his belongings, drank the last sip at the bottom of his mug and gave Leonid a coffee flavoured kiss before reaching for the door. “Let me walk you out,” Leonid offered, kissing back.

“No, Lenya. Stay, I’ll be quick,” Sasha urged. Leonid felt a little annoyed at Sasha’s reluctance whenever they crossed the invisible line between ‘inside’ and ‘outside'. 

“I want to walk out with you. Let me,” he insisted. Sasha protested with a soft grunt, but in the end allowed it.

They walked down the stairs, a landing and a half, before they were by the door to the building. Sasha made another attempt at slipping away quietly but Leonid stopped him by the sleeve of his jacket. They walked out together, immediately shielding their faces from the glaring sun. It was later than they realised, about mid-morning.

“Well it’s a Sunday. There’s no one around this early. Children are still watching cartoons,” Leonid made clear. “Come here…”

He tugged Sasha to the side of the building, where the garbage bins stood, hidden from view by the nooks and crannies of the building’s columns and walls. In a cold shadowed corner away from the main street, he cupped Sasha’s face and pulled it in for a kiss, that Sasha resisted at first but could not overpower. He did cut it short, though, which slightly annoyed Leonid but Sasha’s hand upon his cheek and his caressing thumb made up for it quickly.

“Thank you, but I repeat to you: be careful. This is not a game,” Sasha whispered.  _ He’s right, _ Leonid nodded accepting and looking a bit like a scolded child.

“I’m flattered by your enthusiasm,” Sasha reassured, smiling. “I’ll see you tonight at work.” He gave him a short hug and walked away into the street, soon disappearing.

Leonid walked out of the shadows to watch Akimov leave by the edge of the sidewalk and lingered there for some time, not thinking of anything in particular. A sudden, incredibly loud  _ clunk!  _ from the lid of one of the garbage disposals nearly gave him an infarction. When he recovered his wits he spun around to find Marina Valeriyevna dusting her hands off and walking past him towards the building door.

“Good morning, Leonid Fyodorovich,” she greeted. Leonid found himself mute, and apparently imbecile, for he could not form thought or word.

“I was taking out the rubbish,” the girl filled in his unasked question and smiled. Upon seeing it, Leonid found he could think and breathe again. “Good morning, Rina! I... did not see you there.”

“I’m very sorry if I caughtyou by surprise,” the girl apologised, her eyes gleaming. 

Leonid felt himself drenched in hot sweat and also freezing in fear. He looked into her eyes for a sign, but they were unreadable. The moss green of her gaze was as bright as ever and revealed nothing out of the norm. Nonetheless, he felt the need to inquire. “I-”

“I’ll see you around,” she interjected and went back into the building, leaving Leonid by the dumpsters with a stone in the pit of his stomach.

* * *

_ [Monday morning] _

The week reset and Monday morning came about again, with Leonid stepping off the bus at his stop and walking tiredly towards his apartment block, eager to slip into his bed after another boring night at work. But first he had to navigate through the sea of screaming schoolchildren that dashed past him, the noisy coop of chickens that were their gossiping mothers and a little nest of babushkas that sat on the benches, taking in the morning air while handing out lectures on eating properly, like propaganda flyers, to skinny boys like him.

Once successfully through, he approached the apartment building door and stopped at the blocking figure. The girl was slipping her shoe back in with a finger, her wheat-honey hair curtained around her face. Leonid stood in wait until she lifted her eyes and met his with her green ones. 

“Good morning Rina,” he greeted.

“Oh. Good morning, Leonid Fyodorovich.”

Leonid frowned slightly at the difference in address.  _ Again _ , he noted. She had loved to use the formal address as a joke before but it didn’t feel like that now. He now tried to bring some warmth to the interaction that he felt was lacking.

“I’m organising a tutoring session this Saturday. At 2. Want to come?”

“Oh! I, uh,” the girl stammered. “I have a couple of friends at school that are helping me now.”

Leonid felt his smile fade and body get heavier. “Oh, I see.”

“I didn’t want to bother you,” Marina explained, shuffling her book bag on her shoulder and side-glancing as she talked. “You seemed very busy lately.”

“Oh. That’s- Yes, that’s good Marina. I’m very glad for you. Let me know if you need extra help, OK?”

“I will! Thanks!” The girl blurted out and skipped away into a group of teenage girls that greeted her with giggles.

Instead of just walking inside, Leonid looked back and caught her eyes again, in one last glance. And then he saw it: Her lovely green eyes were now empty of it; of that light that used to brighten her smile and lighten her steps when she saw him.

Now she looked at him from afar, and despite smiling back, her eyes went beyond him, as if looking back in time: at a memory of something that she used to love.

Used to.

>>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- The Bolsheviks of the 1920s actively considered homosexuality a "[social] illness to be cured" or an example of "bourgeois degeneracy" while other Bolsheviks believed it should be legally/socially tolerated and legally/socially respected in the new socialist society.
> 
> \- Soviet tendencies in sections of the medical and health communities, even in the early 1920s, to classify homosexuality, if not as a crime, then as an example of mental or physical illness.
> 
> \- The official stance from the late 1920s could be summarised in an article of the Great Soviet Encyclopedia of 1930 written by medical expert Sereisky (based on a report written in the 1920s): Soviet legislation does not recognise so-called crimes against morality. Our laws proceed from the principle of protection of society and therefore countenance punishment only in those instances when juveniles and minors are the objects of homosexual interest. —Sereisky, Great Soviet Encyclopedia, 1930, p. 593
> 
> \- On 7 March 1934, Article 121 was added to the criminal code for the entire Soviet Union that expressly prohibited only male homosexuality, with up to five years of hard labour in prison. There were no criminal statutes regarding sex between women. During the Soviet regime, Western observers believed that between 800 and 1,000 men were imprisoned each year under Article 121.
> 
> \- Some historians have noted that it was during this time that Soviet propaganda began to depict homosexuality as a sign of fascism and that Article 121 may have a simple political tool to use against dissidents, irrespective of their true sexual orientation and to solidify Russian opposition to Nazi Germany, who had broken its treaty with Russia.
> 
> \- The law was often used more for in-prisoning dissidents (counterrevolutionaries) mostly targeting fascists (Germans), than actively oppressing homosexuality. (Source: Wikipedia)
> 
> \- Whereas the Stalin government conflated homosexuality with pedophilia, the Khrushchev government conflated homosexuality with the situational, sometimes forced, sex acts between male prisoners. (Source: LGBT in Soviet Union - Wikipedia).
> 
> \- Thank you for reading 💛


	7. Waiting For The Night

Quite a few months had passed, and yet he was still a free man; not arrested, not publicly shunned and not on his way to Siberia. It could only mean that Marina had pity on his wretched soul, perhaps swayed by the remains of her young love for him. Nonetheless, whatever had been there once, whether real or the product of sophomoric enamourment, was entirely gone now. Their once lively conversations gradually dwindled down to curt hellos and goodbyes, until not even those remained. Then the glances and acknowledging nods disappeared. These days, they were merely strangers that happened to live next door to each other; their relationship a memory as distant as a previous lifetime. 

He would be lying to himself if he didn't admit that the ordeal had caused him quite a lot of grief. Marina had been like a ‘preview,’ a best-case-scenario that could be extrapolated to anyone he knew, should he and Sasha revealed themselves. There might be those who would be kind, but leave anyways. And of course, those who would rage and perhaps even attack him. Not to speak of their jobs; he was sure Dyatlov would make it his personal vendetta to exile them from any possible workplace in the entire Soviet Union (perhaps even volunteering to transport them to the gulags personally). No... this was the only way; to live hidden from view yet in plain sight, an open secret. To have an alibi for everything; for the lack of girlfriend, then wife, then children. Until everyone could deduce it for themselves, though too afraid to name it out loud. 

It was only after waking up in the warm afternoon light, in those odd hours between one shift and another, that his “real” life would happen. The only window of time in which he was fully himself. And so, every day he woke up, got dressed and went to Sasha’s place, no one being the wiser. They were getting adept at pretending to be lonely bachelors, too dedicated to their work to care for relationships, homebodies that went out only for work, or the occasional trip to the library, cinema or grocery store. 

The night was clear as he walked in the dark towards Sasha’s flat, softly whistling the only stanzas of  _ Pesnja No Druge _ (“Song About A Friend” - Sasha’s favourite Visotsky song) he remembered, as he strolled on the sidewalk. He rubbed his gloved hands against each other, creating some friction warmth, and blew hot air in them as he made a cup over his mouth. April was giving way to warmer nights and melting snows. Flowers peeked from under the dew and frost, a promise of new life. Leonid picked a delicate dandelion from a crack in the cement, an offering, and made his way up the steps to Sasha’s block. 

Sasha received him as usual, with a long, sensual kiss that took them straight to the bedroom. He was especially energetic tonight, feeling frisky enough to try something called “rimming.” They had learned about it thanks to the extensive research that had continued through the procurement of magazines, courtesy of Stolyarchuk. Leonid was already getting used to Sasha’s fingers entering him during blow jobs, and easing into the sensation. It had been utterly strange at first; Sasha inserting a finger inside him as he sucked and licked him, but he had done something with the wriggling that felt really, really good, and he couldn’t help but ask for it since. Sasha was very patient, and curbed Leonid’s unchecked impatience with a prudent pace. It took a couple of weeks to try two, then three fingers, until Leonid felt comfortable being stretched like that. They were always generous with the Vaseline; to the point where it had become slightly embarrassing going to the store for more so often. They decided then to take turns buying it, to avoid the possibility of unpleasant conversations with store clerks. 

Now Sasha was pushing his legs wide open with his hands and arms, and his tongue wandered downwards, licking the underside of his balls and, at times, holding one in his mouth and Leonid felt a string of chills go up and down his spine. Sasha licked lower, until he found his hole, and began licking the ring. 

“Sasha... please... I, I want you inside,” Leonid panted, hungrily. Sasha peeked his head up from between his legs with a look on his face as if to ask:  _ Are you sure? _

“Yes,” Leonid answered the mute question out loud. “Yes, I want to do it.” 

“Lenya…” Sasha whispered, as Leonid felt a couple of fingers enter him. It felt so good, and he instinctively closed his eyes. Sasha abandoned his rimming practice in favour of prepping Lenya for their first penetrative experience, exciting them both greatly. Leonid squirmed in Sasha’s hand as he added a third finger, stretching him further. He barely noticed Sasha’s frown, too lost in pleasure to care. Only the sound of Sasha clearing his throat caught his attention. 

“Lenya... did you... go this morning?” 

Leonid’s eyes flew open. A chilling fear settled in his stomach as he considered that the pressing sensation was not just Sasha’s fingers inside him. His stomach seemed to agree. 

“... I... why?” He regretted asking as soon as the words escaped him. Sasha’s reply was confirmation enough. 

“I think... we should go to the bathroom,” Sasha said, holding up his hand for Leonid to see his own mess on it.

* * *

After close to an hour of near crying and (a little) fighting, Leonid finally agreed to allow Sasha to enter the shower with him. He still avoided him, too embarrassed to even lift his face. 

“It’s alright, Lenya. I don’t care.” 

“This is so fucking embarrassing!” Leonid cried, angry tears blending with the shower water on his face. Sasha just smiled and pulled him into a hug. Being pressed against Sasha’s warm body under the hot stream made him relax and sink into the reassuring embrace. 

“It doesn’t matter at all, Lenya. I love you just the same.” Sasha said softly in his ear. It made his breath stop. 

“How do you even know, Sasha? How do you even know that you love me?” Leonid didn’t even look up as he asked. He had no reason to doubt, but the fear, old fear, was still there. He just had to know, to eliminate the last bits of doubt before he could truly accept his lover’s words. 

Sasha pulled away so he could look into Leonid’s eyes. His ocean blue eyes, stormy like the sea. “Because, dummy, I had your shit all over my hands and I truly couldn’t care less about it!” 

Not having expected humour at such a poignant moment, the joke blindsided him and Leonid just stood there, absolutely still, like an idiot unable to comprehend language. He snapped out of it when Sasha gave him a quick shake and repeated himself, a bit more pointedly this time. Leonid let the words sink in, his fear and inhibitions loosening as he laughed out loud, his joy resonating against the echoing walls of the bathroom. The chuckles gave way to slow pecks, then deepened into long kisses, broken only to come up for air. Before long their hands joined in, exploring each other’s napes and backs, alternating between scratches and caresses. Their lust formed into pressing erections that slid cravingly into each other. Sasha grabbed the soap and lathered his hand generously, and once ready, wrapped it over both of them and began stroking. Leonid let his head fall and press into the wet tile behind him, allowing Sasha access to his neck, which Sasha devoured like a hungry vampire, biting and sucking. They locked lips, exploring with their tongues as Sasha’s hand brought them to release. Sasha grunted into Leonid’s neck as he came generously onto Leonid’s stomach, and Leonid followed soon after, adding to the mix. Sasha let himself fall into Leonid’s arms, exhausted, after the pleasure waves had subsided and Leonid held him, holding his head into the crook of his neck with this right hand, and rubbing his back with his left. He felt Sasha smile into his skin when he let his left wander down to his butt and grab it cheekily. 

“Sasha... you have no idea…” Leonid whispered, feeling suddenly overcome. The running water suddenly going quiet. 

“I do.” Sasha affirmed, his words barely perceptible, yet so loud.

* * *

Leonid rode the high of his experiences with Sasha through most of the week, barely aware of the tension headache from insufficient sleep that threatened to become a migraine. His muscles were still sore and his stomach tense, the latter mostly from leftover embarrassment over the first failed half of that night’s sexual escapades. Could he be getting tired of having sex everyday with Sasha? The incredibly absurd thought floated around in his mind as he stretched his arms in the chair. He had to admit though, that despite the hunger that seemed impossible to subside, his body had limits and perhaps he was reaching them. 

The rays of light from breaking dawn hit his weary eyes as he walked down the glass-panelled corridors to the locker rooms, as Friday morning descended upon the power plant. Leonid coughed profusely. The smoke in the changing rooms was thicker than usual. Everyone spoke animatedly, and the cigarette-induced fog helped cloak him better. His clothes will stink later, but at least he would be able to change in relative peace. 

Or so he thought, until Stolyarchuk made a dramatic entrance, still wet from the shower and with only a thin white towel to cover himself, thin enough to reveal his ‘attributes’ very clearly in a silhouette that Leonid could not help but notice. He blushed a little; it was not his intention to be checking out his friend like that, but with such a blatant display, he found it impossible not to. If there were still any remaining doubts about his sexual inclinations, he could now safely put them to rest. 

However, Boris’ was not at all parading around scantily clothed in a boisterous display of masculine sensuality (or, at least, not only for that). He raised his arms to attract everyone’s attention and cleared his throat. Apparently, he had an announcement to make. 

“Comrades, I am getting married! A round of beer before our shift tonight to celebrate. On me!”

Naturally the room erupted in cheers at the prospect of free beer. Boris was soon surrounded by half naked men itching to hug and kiss him, and a few offering mock condolences. Leonid found himself in a makeshift queue to congratulate his friend. Out of his field of vision he heard Sasha speak out, his voice unusually high against the crowd’s.

“We have work that evening. We should not drink alcohol before a shift.” 

“Oh, come on Sasha. Just one round. Send off this poor fellow’s soul to the afterlife on a good note, yes?” protested Khodemchuk. Akimov was still unconvinced, and it was his call after all, as the night shift foreman. 

“It’ll just be one round, Sasha, I promise,” Stolyarchuk reassured him. “I wanted to talk to you about this anyway, to ask for days off for the wedding and reception, that you’re naturally invited to.” Boris cracked a handsome smile at Sasha, to help with his persuasion. Akimov finally nodded with his head, adjusting his glasses. He didn’t want to appear too lenient and wished to suppress any indication of favouritism. 

“Bring Lenya too,” Boris said. Leonid heard the comment. It rolled off so naturally he almost didn’t catch it. He said it as if Leonid was Sasha’s to bring along, which in a way he was, but not for Stolyarchuk or the others to know so. 

“Yes, I... I mean, you can tell him yourself. He’s right there,” Sasha pointed to Leonid by the corner of the room, halfway through his trousers, stuck in a pose like a deer caught crossing the road. 

“Yes, of course. Lenya, come by too. Bring Sasha.” Stolyarchuk said. 

“You just invited him! Has love already rotted your brain, Borja?” Leonid laughed, making a dumb face at him. Maybe he could turn the tables and crack a joke at Stolyarchuk for a change.

Stolyarchuk just laughed louder. “I meant your girlfriend - Sasha! That’s her name, right? Are you getting your Sashas confused? That’s kind of hilarious!”

Leonid felt the heat of a thousand suns on his face at his mistake. Why on earth had he chosen that name for his fake girlfriend? Only he could think of such a stupid idea. 

“Anyways, you both come. Seven o’clock, at the stall by the riverbank. I’ll see you there?”

Sasha and Leonid nodded and blushed in unison. Stolyarchuk kept laughing, wriggling that funny moustache of his, and whistling his way through dressing. He walked out catching handshakes and hugs, striding cockily like a stud on a catwalk. Leonid sighed and watched him leave, his eyes locking onto his athletic figure once more as he slipped away, thinking,  _ Dasha is one lucky girl.  _

* * *

Yet, when he looked up at Sasha, shrouded in light seeping in from the moon and street lights outside, he knew himself to be just as lucky, for there were no other words to describe what he felt. Maybe elation, or gratitude; towards God or the Universe or whatever existed above, if anything, that had merged them like this, in the isolated intimacy of their evenings, night after night, in pure ectastic joy. 

Sasha entered him, slowly and gently at first, but soon quickening the pace with the crescendo of his arousal. Leonid grunted at first from the discomfort; the sensation of being entered by Sasha was odd at first, despite having craved it for so long. Now that it was happening, he was frightened of his ambivalence. Yet, Sasha had prepared him well. They had started off with plenty of foreplay; Sasha sucking him off for quite a long time while fingering him, making sure he was well lubed and ready before he inserted the tip, testing out his work. This was a controlled experiment; the settings had been carefully discussed on several occasions, of how they were going to try and who would be first (Leonid had eagerly volunteered). He made sure to be ‘in the clear’ before the test was to be carried out. Being the thorough, obsessive freak that he is, Sasha had an impressive assortment of hand towels laying around anyway ( _ just a precaution _ , he assured), and quite the collection of Vaseline jars. Leonid was pleased at the sight; at least they were not lacking in the equipment department. 

He moved his hand down, to stroke himself while Sasha thrust into him, slightly harder each time. Sasha noticed the hand and pried it away, stubbornly taking charge of all the pleasuring. His fingers wrapped around Leonid’s length, stroking lightly to the rhythm of the thrusts. Suddenly, Leonid’s whole body shook in a strange, intense sensation that he could not discern as pleasure or pain, or both. It happened again, when Sasha hit something inside him, deep. It hurt, but it also felt so good. “Do it again,” he begged, pushing himself back into Sasha, aching for the feeling, wanting him to find the spot again. 

“There?” Sasha gasped, and he plunged, hard, into it, making Leonid cry out in unfettered pleasure. He answered Leonid’s ‘more's and yeses with punctuated thrusts that became a wild gallop which, at some point, he lost the reins of. He could feel himself being squeezed by Leonid’s contracting muscles, pushing him further inside, walls closing in, until all of him spilled out into Lenya, one long spurt after another, almost endless. He had unfortunately forgotten all about manually gratifying Lenya in his daze, and cursed his carelessness. He couldn’t help but regret his expenditure as well; he would have caught Lenya’s cum in his mouth had he not been too tired (and distracted) to do so. 

“How was that?” Sasha asked as he settled next to Leonid on the bed, after a thorough wiping with the towels. “Amazing,” Leonid replied, kissing Sasha softly. “But it’s my turn now.” 

Sasha snickered. “You’re not tired? Ah, to be so young, and so nimble!”

“You’re not an old man, Sasha. Besides, you forgot about me. I’m still worked up, as you can plainly see.” Leonid grabbed his erection and waved it around, so as to make his point, causing a few loud snickers from Sasha for the lewd show.

“Ah, you are right, so, let me make it up to you. I’m not that tired either, so I think I’ll try this sitting up.” When Leonid frowned in confusion, Sasha just said. “Here, I’ll show you.” 

Leonid instinctively moved to place himself on top, assuming there’d be a role reversal, but he was pushed back into the mattress by Sasha, who pinned him down and captured his mouth in a hungry kiss. Leonid yielded and kissed back, holding Sasha’s face in his hands, letting his long, thin fingers hide in his soft brown hair. He was losing himself in the depths of the kiss when he felt Sasha sit on his hips, then lift himself. It caught him by surprise, making him break the kiss. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Pass me the jar.” Sasha gestured towards the Vaseline on the nightstand. Leonid handed it to him, pausing when Sasha gestured again, requesting that he open it, so he did. Sasha then dipped a couple of fingers in it, scooping up a generous amount, and with his other hand pried the jar out of Leonid’s right hand, let it fall on the bed, and slathered the jelly on Leonid’s fingers. “Your turn now,” he told Leonid, who regarded him awestruck. 

“Both?” Leonid asked, nervous. Sasha nodded. 

“I’ve been... practising.” 

Leonid was struck still and dumb, so Sasha took it upon himself to move Lenya’s slicked hand up to his opening and push his two fingers up inside. “Wriggle and open them, like scissors,” he instructed. Leonid’s was still unable to say anything, but his fingers moved as told. He had never felt Sasha like this, was this how he felt to Sasha? It felt so tight, and it intensified when Sasha suddenly contracted. His cock twitched in anticipation of direct contact. 

“Another,” Sasha ordered, asking for a third finger inside. Leonid felt himself grow harder at his unusual authoritarian demeanour. This felt better, more natural; having Sasha dictate the encounter, and yet be the one on the receiving end. Leonid moved his fingers faster, making Sasha squirm in his hand, and relishing the feeling of power that aroused him. But it was a power that was given, allowed, by Sasha. He was the one truly in control. 

“Out,” Sasha commanded, and Leonid obeyed, removing his fingers and searching for a towel with his other hand. He wiped without looking at his hands, for he could not look away at Sasha lowering himself on top of him, squeezing himself into his throbbing erection. The focus on the sudden pressure around his cock was driving him mad, making him buck his hips upwards instinctively. Sasha took hold of his hands and brought them up to his waist, guiding himself down. He placed one of Lenya’s hands on his own hardness, and moved the hand up and down the length, tacitly requesting a hand job, while he finished lowering himself onto Leonid’s cock, and began to fuck himself on it. 

However, Leonid found he could not properly jerk Sasha off while he was being ridden so assiduously, without a moment’s reprieve. The sight alone, and the moans, would have been enough to push him over the edge in regular circumstances, and yet here he was, inside Sasha, feeling all of him, hot and tight. He let his hands fall down from Sasha’s waist, trailing down to his buttocks and grabbing hold firmly, using Sasha’s descending momentum to slam him down even harder. Leonid cursed loudly, in pleasure and the great embarrassment of cumming within seconds of thrusting, quickly and without warning. He spilled completely into Sasha, almost passing out from the overstimulation that Sasha’s contracting walls provided, squeezing him dry with each wave as he filled Sasha up to the rim. Sasha brought himself to orgasm, leaving a few drops of cum on Leonid’s stomach, the amount paling in comparison to the load Leonid had stowed inside him, now dripping slowly down his inner thighs. 

“What did you practice on? Good God, Sasha, you nearly gave me a heart attack,” Leonid turned on his side regard Sasha at eye level, now laying beside him on the bed. 

“It would be nice to have some... tools, like those on the magazine ads. I’ve just used my fingers. It works but it’s not enough sometimes,” Sasha complained, putting his glasses back on. It was so bizarre... one minute a sexually domineering dictator, the next, a meek stocky man with a bushy moustache. 

“You could have just asked,” Leonid ended up saying, mesmerised at Sasha’s transformation. “You’re right,” Sasha concurred and gave him a kiss on the nose. 

“Actually, no. Don’t ask me, Sasha. Just tell me to do it. I.. like it, when you tell me what to do,” Leonid let his voice become a whisper against Sasha’s neck. 

“I thought that only worked on the job,” another kiss from Sasha, on his open mouth this time. 

“Off the job as well, apparently,” Leonid moaned into Sasha’s mouth, bringing one of his hands down to touch his awakening cock. Sasha chuckled. 

“You truly are insatiable,  _ solnce _ .”

* * *

The Friday evening soirée began quite low key, at the small  _ pivnaya _ [beer and liquor kiosk] that sat squat by the riverbank, quite close to the plant itself. Stolyarchuk spotted Akimov from across the street as he approached the grody establishment, surprised to see him there so early. Sasha leaned on his elbows against one of the standing tables, staring vacantly at nothing, until his eyes focused upon Boris’ and he shook his head, as if waking from a dream. Stolyarchuk wondered if he’d started early and was already tipsy, but saw no bottles or mugs on the table. “Do you want a beer?,” he asked Sasha “or perhaps some vodka (or both),” but the stocky man just waved no, saying he was just there to make sure no one got too drunk before work and had no plans to imbibe. Stolyarchuk scoffed loudly at the absurdity of the plan.

“Stop the fussing Sasha, and just come here,” Boris ushered him over with an angled head, his long neck stretching pointedly towards the bottle of vodka hiding inside his jacket. Akimov looked back and forth between it and Boris, curling his mouth disapprovingly. Boris just wriggled his eyebrows as he unscrewed the top and placed the bottle directly in Akimov’s hand. 

“So this is where you hide all your indecent proclivities? Like porn?” Akimov mocked, pointing at the inside of Stolyarchuk’s jacket with his finger. 

Stolyarchuk feigned ignorance, cheekily. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Sasha. Everyone knows ‘there’s no sex in the USSR,’ much less porn! In any case, there’s nothing ‘indecent’ about it all. Very important stuff, I’ll have you know. Toptunov seems to think so, too.”

Akimov froze at the mention of Leonid’s name. “You need to stop giving him those magazines. It’s dangerous.” 

“He seems to like them a lot. He never gives them back, so I assume they’re working.” 

Akimov turned his head, hoping to hide the crimson in his cheeks. In his mind’s eye he could see Leonid, right at that very moment: sprawled naked across his bed, spent from their lovemaking, promising to shower and follow Sasha to the rendezvous soon after. Akimov had been reluctant to leave him but knew it would be better to arrive early, and separately, to Boris’ thing.

“Do you know if he’s... well, you know, tried anything? He doesn’t tell me much about what goes on with Sasha.” 

Akimov nearly choked on his own spit. Stolyarchuk laughed and slapped him hard on the back. “You’re such a prude, Sasha,” he teased.

Yuvchenko arrived, followed by the trainees, Proskyruakov and Kudryatsev, not long after. None wasted time in buying mugs of beer and huddling around the rest of the tables. Kirschenbaum dropped in as they finished greetings, but declined drink like Akimov. After a few minutes of conversation, Perevozchenko showed up along with Khodemchuk, who let them all know Brazhnik couldn’t make it (family dinner) but would see them later at work. Boris walked around greeting and hugging them all, but in the end, settled at Akimov’s table, leaning on his elbows like Sasha, and waited with him for Toptunov to show, whilst making small talk.

As they did, Boris opened up a packet of cigarettes and lit one. He offered one Akimov, who declined. Shrugging, he took a long drag and blew out the smoke downwind. “In any case, I bet you know everything already. I just hope he’s happy.” 

“He is,” Sasha said, perhaps a bit too quickly. He rectified. “I mean, I’m quite sure that he is.” 

“Where is he, anyways? I thought he’d come with you.”

“He should be along shortly.” Akimov decided to play into the ruse, deviate suspicion further, even if it caused him physical pain to do so. “Perhaps he is with Sasha, in which case, he might be late…” It would serve, and it was in a way, not a lie. 

“Oh! That’s true. Hah, young Leonid sure grew up fast, didn’t he?” Boris said, wistfully happy. Akimov tried to smile past his stinging eyes. 

“I’m sorry, Sasha,” Boris continued, in between drags of smoke and sips of vodka. “I just always assume he’s with you. It’s strange to not see you together. It’ll be a bit sad when you both get married and are not around as much anymore.” 

Sometimes, the things that Stolyarchuk said made him wonder; if somewhere deep down, he did know. If he was just playing the idiot, pretending to be an ignorant simpleton like the rest of them. Or was it that  _ they _ were too obvious, and someone like Boris, your typical working-class man, could see it plain as day? Whether it was a matter of being too inconspicuous or that their friends were kinder than he gave them credit for, Akimov knew for a fact that his and Leonid’s conjunction did not go unnoticed at all at the power plant. He had a feeling that their names would be forever linked together in the minds of people, by the spinning wheel of fate, in some way or another. 

He sighed, in a mixture of sadness and apprehension. Suddenly the vodka felt very enticing. “I think I’ll take that now,” he said, prying the bottle from Stolyarchuk’s hand. 

“Vodka protects against the effects of radiation in the body. You know that, we all know that. It’s the first thing they teach you at work, during ‘initiation.’ Sitnikov made me drink almost an entire bottle my first day of work,” Boris rambled while Akimov gulped freely. His eyes widened as he watched Akimov sustain the gulps, one after another. He had not expected Sasha to down a fourth of the bottle in one go. 

Sasha handed the bottle back to him, screwed shut. “I meant what I said, Borja.  _ One _ drink.” 

Stolyarchuk laughed, giving his superior a bit of an eye roll. He opened up the bottle and took a long sip of the clear liquid and winked, saying, “Whatever you say, boss.”

Despite being a small gathering, the men generated a loud, animated ambience that was likely quite bothersome to the handful of regulars. The men’s loud hands gesticulated wildly in the air, holding beer bottles hidden inside brown paper bags and cheap cigarettes that did not stay lit. Several rounds of celebratory alcohol and congratulations were passed around generously, along with some  _ taranka _ [salted dry fish] that Yuvchenko brought as a snack to share. Leonid arrived as they were opening a second vodka bottle, and was offered the first sip, which he took without much protest. Sasha caught his eyes quickly, the nearly-telepathic exchange not lost on Leonid. 

_ I want to get out of here, _ said Sasha’s eyes. 

_ Me too, _ replied Leonid’s.

“Lenya! Come here!” Stolyarchuk cried, clearly tipsy. He draped an arm around Toptunov’s neck, bringing his blond head under and giving him a loud kiss on the top. “I have an announcement to make!” he cried out, with Leonid’s head still in a lock. 

Stolyarchuk pulled Toptunov to the space between all the tables and grabbed him by the shoulders. “Lenya, be my best man!” he said, loud enough for the neighbours to hear. 

“Brilliant idea!” cried Yuvchenko, spilling beer on his trousers. The rest of the men joined in cheers, save Akimov, who caught Toptunov’s panicked eyes. 

“Have you proposed yet to Sasha?” Stolyarchuk threw another curve ball almost immediately. “Wha-What?” Leonid stuttered, stupidly. Akimov stared sitting still like a statue, having forgotten how to breathe. 

“When you do, I’ll be your best man!” Stolyarchuk circled an arm around his shoulders again, this time, bringing him over to Akimov’s table. Leonid locked his eyes onto Sasha’s, frozen as well, as a completely clueless Stolyarchuk rambled on. “Then, when it’s this Sasha’s turn,” he pointed to Akimov with his thumb, “we’ll fight for the honour. Or he’ll just have to pick the one with the best moustache!” 

Toptunov had never been one to have a morose disposition, but that that moment felt, perhaps for the first time in his life, a true wish to die in that very spot. The idea of being that man for Boris (or for Sasha) was a pain so complete, he had no words for it, just a feeling of a vast hollowness in his chest, spiralling into a true dark night of the soul. Then again, the idea of having either Boris or Sasha be that man for him nauseated him equally. They had considered it, hypothetically; marrying unsuspecting girls to keep a believable cover, yet both he and Sasha knew themselves unable to be so cruel. What was crueler, then? That or accepting a life of deceit and subterfuge around the people they loved the most?

He didn’t know. He drank from the vodka bottle again to hide his trembling mouth with something while Stolyarchuk continued to enjoy himself and Akimov attempted desperately to disappear. The joy and laughter all around him seemed so discordant he almost believed he had been thrown into some alternate reality and this was some great cosmic joke. He was somewhere else really, just a 25-year-old skinny boy from Tallinn, Estonia: the SIUR senior reactor operator of control room 4, and Sasha Akimov was just his supervisor, Boris Stolyarchuk just a coworker, and tonight was just another night running the fourth RBMK reactor of the Vladimir I. Lenin Power Plant, like every other night of his absurd, simple life. 

Just another Soviet worker, that nobody will ever hear of, or care about. 

“To Comrade Stolyarchuk! May there be no deficit of sexy times in his bedroom!” Khodemchuk bellowed all of a sudden, toasting with a few dregs of beer in his mug.

“And to Sasha! The best supervisor of the Chernobyl Power Plant!” Stolyarchuk added, clinking the mug loudly with his near-empty vodka bottle. 

“Better than Dyatlov!” Kirschenbaum piped in. 

“They’re all better than Dyatlov!” replied Khodemchuk, igniting another round of laughter.

“May Comrade Akimov find a sweetheart too! We all need to have somebody. Right, Lenya?” Boris nudged Toptunov with his elbow, that felt like a spear through his belly. 

“To the boss!” The crowd cheered, sharing a final toast.

It was well-timed; the clock struck ten and the time for work was upon them. The men relieved themselves of their empty bottles (and full bladders) by the wall on the far side of the stall, adding to the pungent smell of stale urine. They staggered away clumsily towards the shuttles to the plant, making Akimov worry. They were fine, Sasha reassured himself. Most of these men eat booze for breakfast, lunch and dinner, and tonight was as typical of a night as ever. Same old town, same old routine. Nothing ever changed and he was happy with that.

Everything except them. The only thing different about Chernobyl were them; the critical mistake to an otherwise perfectly balanced system, somewhat akin to an unstable reactor, now posing a dark threat to the way of life of the collective. They were together, but in many ways, they were alone. He desperately wanted to take Leonid’s hand into his own as they sat side by side in the bus, knowing he’d have to hold back on that gesture in public for the rest of their lives, and in some respects, he had made peace with that. However, unlike him, Leonid was not good at hiding his feelings and when he was hurt, it was (too) easily known. Judging from the redness of his ears he knew his partner to be quite furious.

“Lenya?” he whispered, sitting still, not daring physical contact, but shifting nearer on the seat. 

“Not here,” Leonid cut him off, not taking his eyes off the window. Sasha sighed and sank into his seat sullen, remaining that way until they reached the plant. 

Once inside, Akimov avoided Lenya and the locker rooms, deciding to take his uniform with him directly to the bathroom stalls, like he used to do. He changed quickly, wanting to get to the control room before anyone else. He was almost there when he had the misfortune of running into the deputy chief, Comrade Dyatlov, who ushered him to the side to tell him something, ostensibly of utmost importance.

* * *

Leonid stared at Proskyruakov in genuine bafflement when the trainee came to fetch him in the locker rooms in an absurdly protocol way, petitioning his presence at the control room promptly, on ‘Comrade Akimov’s orders.’

“Sasha.” Leonid acknowledged as soon as he entered the room. His gaze followed Proskyruakov who walked up to Kudryatsev, over by a corner, to mutter something to him. He then approached Sasha, noticing the binder in his hands and the print on it. He managed to catch a list of black lines striking across some text before Sasha closed it shut. 

“Leonid Fyodorovich, please come with me,” Sasha said curtly, and gestured to follow him out of the room. Leonid complied, disconcerted. 

Sasha walked in front, along the deraerator corridor that overlooked the rooftop of reactor no. 4’s building. The windows were open and the fresh breeze wandered in, cooling his heated cheeks. The nighttime humming of the reactor was loud here, making it difficult to hold a conversation, and perhaps the reason the area was often used for solitary cigarette breaks by the workers. Sasha grabbed the railings with both hands, and looked down. He pointed towards something, so Leonid stood closer to him to see what it was, when Sasha placed his left hand atop Leonid’s right.

“Just pretend we’re inspecting or something. I needed to talk to you,” he whispered.

Leonid’s mouth gaped, opening for comment but uttering none. He nodded instead and glanced down, pretending to search for something to look at. Down was boring, so he lifted his eyes and gasped, seeing something familiar.

“The Cowherd and the Weaver.”

“Hm?”

Leonid extended an arm towards the night sky. His index peeked out from within sleeves that were too long. “They’re visible from there also.” 

Sasha followed Leonid’s finger and saw the constellations above, the stars scintillating against the ebony sky. The night was clear and fresh, moonless, perfect for stargazing. He let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, relaxing at last. Leonid did the same, his face softening and breaking into a smile, albeit a small one. 

“Don’t mind the guys. They think they’re helping, being nice. Don’t let it upset you so,” Sasha whispered, squeezing Leonid’s hand on the railing. 

“I’m not upset.” 

“I can literally hear your jaw grinding.”

“Really? In this noise? You have good hearing, Sasha. Perhaps you should be a radio jockey instead of a nuclear engineer.” 

Akimov scoffed, moving his hand away. Leonid could be so petulant at times.

“I’m sorry. You’re right. I am upset.” 

“But why?” 

“Because you and I will never be that. We will never be free.” 

Sasha considered this. “You and I, what we’ve done, it's... beyond my wildest dreams. Is this not enough for you, Lenya?”

The question hung in the air between them, falling flat in the tense silence. Leonid continued to observe the stars, as distant as he. Sasha rolled his shoulders and exhaled, capitulating. 

“I’m sorry, that was a stupid question. Of course it isn’t.” 

“Is it enough for you?” Leonid snapped, turning to look directly at him. Sasha shook his head. 

“But it’s all we have.” 

Leonid turned his body towards Sasha and took a step closer, close enough for Sasha to feel his warmth and catch the faint scent of the soap they normally shared. He almost turned away, afraid to be seen, but then Leonid spoke. 

“You know, I feel like, all this time, all I have been doing is waiting for the night. Waiting each day for evening to come so I can go to work and see you. Waiting for darkness to fall so I can be with you. Waiting for tonight, so I can tell you, that I want to spend not just nights, but all my days with you.”

His fingers intertwined with Sasha’s, hidden by the railing, fixing him in place. Sasha could almost feel Lenya’s longing as if it were a palpable thing, bitter with a tinge of sadness. He sampled it briefly, stealing a lighting quick kiss; an aftertaste of beer, vodka and despair. Yet there was nothing but hope in his eyes. 

He pulled away, finding the situation excruciating. He had to concede. This was no way to live. “So, what are we going to do, Lenya? What do we do with this?” 

“Be together, I suppose.”

“Forever?”

“Is that too long?”

“Not long enough. But it’ll do.” 

The sound of footsteps made them split apart like unstable atoms, hovering unsure and aimless as a couple of workers passed by. Sasha wished he had the binder in his hands so the pretence could be at least minimally believable. He did not have to search for an excuse for long, promptly cut off by Leonid’s wristwatch alarm. 

“I think our shift is officially starting,” Leonid said, turning it off. They began to make their way back to the control room, when Sasha asked, curious, “by the way, what’s the date today?”

“It’s uh, the 25th, I think. Why?”

“I want to know, so I remember. You know, the date we-”

“Wait a second,” Leonid interrupted. “It’s not the 25th. It’s already past midnight, so it’s the 26th.” 

“Alright then. April 26th, 1986,” Sasha smiled. “A date to remember.”

Leonid smiled back. “I’ll see you after work?” Sasha nodded. Whatever they saw at work was not “them,” merely the constructs meant for the public to see. They’d see each other in the mornings of all the days that now belonged to the real them.

“Yes. Let’s do something nice later,” Sasha whispered.

“That is a date then,” Leonid whispered back.

Sasha gave him a quick shoulder squeeze. “We should hurry inside now, there’s something about a test we have to review. I just heard about it but I’m sure it’ll we’ll get through it quickly. I can’t wait to be home with you.” He kept his voice low as he opened the door to the control room, wide enough so Leonid could enter first. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song lyrics:
> 
> _I'm waiting for the night to fall  
>  I know that it will save us all  
> When everything's dark  
> Keeps us from the stark reality _
> 
> _I'm waiting for the night to fall  
>  When everything is bearable  
> And there in the still  
> All that you feel Is tranquility _
> 
> _There is a star in the sky  
>  Guiding my way with its light  
> And in the glow of the moon  
> Know my deliverance will come soon _
> 
> _There is a sound in the calm  
>  Someone is coming to harm  
> I press my hands to my ears  
> It's easier here just to forget fear _
> 
> _And when I squinted  
>  The world seemed rose-tinted  
> And angels appeared to descend  
> To my surprise  
> With half-closed eyes  
> Things looked even better  
> Than when they were opened _
> 
> _Been waiting for the night to fall  
>  Now everything is bearable  
> And here in the still  
> All that you hear Is tranquility…_
> 
> Song: “Waiting For The Night” by Depeche Mode.


	8. Winds Of Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ch.8 - Stolyarchuk’s POV about the fates of Sasha Akimov and Leonid Toptunov.

_[ From Washington... latest world news, brought to you by The Voice of America. First the headlines...]_

_[... Radio Svoboda Europa... This is Radio Free Europe / Radio Liberty... ]_

_[...dio 4... BBC News... Europe takes economic action after Yeltsin’s attempted coup... August... foreign office has advised... not to travel... USSR unless absolutely necessa-]_

“Would you turn that down, darling, please? I finally managed to get Ninochka to sleep. And she’s been so fussy lately…”

Boris stopped turning the dial and shifted his concentration away from the half-dismantled radio on the tabletop to look at his wife, who stood imposingly in front of him holding a wooden spoon. However, Dasha did not look upset so much as concerned; he had, after all, been fussing at this radio for two days straight now, prodding here and attaching pieces there. Tonight he had at last managed to augment the signal receiver to go beyond local stations, even beyond the Eastern bloc, and he had been too eager for success to stop. Nonetheless, he indulged her in lowering the volume, though he decided to leave the last foreign station he found tuned in. A Western song came on; one he liked a lot in particular. 

_//_

_I follow the Moskva_

_Down to Gorky Park_

_Listening to the winds of change_

_An August summer night_

_Soldiers passing by_

_Listening to the winds of change_

_//_

He belted it out, passionately, feeling deeply affected by the lyrics. He was starting to get rather good at English and understand the meaning of the words. The realisation made him overly enthusiastic about his ability to hold a tune, butchering the song much to his wife’s dismay.

“Borja! Please, or I’ll have you put her to sleep even if it makes you late for work.” 

He rolled his eyes cheekily when she couldn’t see him and switched from singing to whistling the whistling part of the song, over and over, getting up from the table to stand behind her by the stove. “What’s this amazing concoction?” he inquired, peering at the contents of the steaming pot. He knew it was borsch (again), but he didn’t care. Dasha could make burnt toast and he’d consider it a delicacy. 

She gave him a short giggle. “It’s just reheat from lunch today. But since it’s snowing outside, I thought it’d be best if you had something hot before your shift. “She scooped up a taste on the spoon for him, even blowing on it to dissipate the heat before bringing it to his lips. It stirred him inside. Despite the years, they remained gentle and attentive to each other, very much still like newlyweds. He ate and kissed her, deeply, leaving her slightly short for breath before returning to his project at the table, whistling along with the rest of the song as he worked. 

“Listen to this, Dasha! Isn’t it cool?” he blurted out, grinning.

She giggled again, resting the hand with the spoon on her hip. “You can understand what they say?”

“A little bit. My English isn’t as good as my German, but I can get by.”

Dasha hummed along a bit as she made a space on the table for his dinner, moving some of the radio pieces around and laughing a bit at Boris’ panicked face at the thought some might go missing. “I like the melody. Maybe you can tell me what it means later,” she said, setting the soup in front of him with a kiss to the top of his head.

“Maybe I can show you now…” He grabbed her from behind before she could squirrel away and brought her down on his lap, locking her in place by circling his arms around her waist.

“Boris! At least let me turn off the soup…”

He began to nip gently at her neck as one of his hands snuck under her shirt. “What if... we go do our civic duty and make another diligent Soviet citizen?” 

“Borja, you’re going to be late... ahh…”

“It’s OK... it doesn’t really matter anymore...”

_[ beep... [static]... beep, beeeeep... is the BBC, with breaking news.... Red flag.... Kremlin... Gorbachev has just resigned as president of the Soviet Union... seven decades of communist rule....come to an end....[static]....our correspondent...]_

Boris froze up at the mention of the president’s name, clear in the foreign woman’s voice, unmistakeable. His brain also recognised the English words ‘resigned’ and ‘end.’ He could only understand a fraction of what was being said, yet a chill began to set inside. “What’s going on?” Dasha asked, her flushed cheeks contrasting against the puzzlement in her eyes.

“Hold on.” He shifted with her on the seat and turned up the volume, trying to follow the story, but the British enunciation was too difficult for him to pick up the rest at his current skill level. “What is it Borja? What are they saying?” Dasha asked, moving off from his lap to stand up and hug herself anxiously. 

“Something happened. Turn on the TV, quick.” He urged her, though it was he who scampered into the living room first. 

The blue and yellow letters of the TV station’s logo sat low in the lower-right corner of the screen as the transmission appeared, live from the Kremlin in Moscow. Gorbachev’s face was calm and composed, as was his voice, despite the news he was delivering, which were for all intents and purposes, earth-shattering. He held the speech in the pages in his hands yet spoke directly into the camera, at them and the other 200 million citizens that awaited anxiously to know the fate of the nation.

_[ ... I am very much concerned as I am leaving this post. However, I also have feelings of hope and faith in you. We are heirs of a great civilisation, and it now depends on all and everyone whether or not the civilisation will make a comeback to a new a decent living today...]_

Dasha gasped, shifting closer to her husband on the sofa. “Gorbachev... resigned?”

Boris could not manage more than stare blankly at the screen. Suddenly, he was back there again, on that night in April some years ago, when he had felt the world collapse around him. The ghost of the original chemical reaction was forming in his body: his breath quickened, his stomach tensed, his heart beat furiously and his ears started to ring. His eyes filled up and, just like then, the tears began to fall, in silence first, then followed by quiet sobs he failed to contain, a second time around.

“Borya…” Dasha wrapped her thin arms around him, holding him tight. He sunk into her, hiding his face in her chest. “What does this mean?” She whispered, stroking his curls gently. 

“It means there is no more Soviet Union. The USSR doesn’t exist anymore.” 

He wiped his face on her apron, waiting until the sobs subsided sufficiently before lifting his face to meet hers.

“It means we’re free.”

* * *

“Yes... yes... OK. Sure, I’ll see you later, then.” He hung up but remained frozen in place, staring out the window at the falling snow while he let the words sink in.

Dasha peeked from behind the door frame, still visibly shaken. “What did they say?”

“They want me to come in a little earlier tonight, for a briefing. I suppose nuclear plants don’t stop just because a nation collapses,” Boris said, his fingers twiddling with the curly cord as he spoke.

She began to tear up. “Are you going to lose your job?”

Dasha’s fear was as big as his, he realised; perhaps bigger. Her panicked face triggered his protective instinct, making him forget his own consternation for a moment and attend to hers instead. “I don’t think so. In any case, I’ll find out more about what’s going on there,” he said, reassuring her with a tight hug. “Don’t worry, Dasha. Everything’s going to be OK.” He took her mouth in a kiss, tasting a tinge of sadness from the remains of the tears on her cheeks. 

When he was well wrapped in his coat, thick scarf and mittens, he gave her another; deeper and slower, and for an instant felt the temptation to stay and never go back to the plant. To that place, that was now haunted for him. He wanted to take her and run, far away, across walls that were now piles of rubble, and never look back. 

But he went. He walked out the door, down the steps and off to work, like every other night of his life because although the world around him kept changing, he didn’t know how to. He should have run, he thought, he should have left, back then. But it was all over now and they were gone and with this now, it was as if they never mattered. 

He cried all the way to the station, not minding the curious passersby in the least. Some of them were crying too.

* * *

The administration building appeared before him, white and pale and eerie, sitting alone in the dark. The floodlights lit up the dancing snowflakes, falling slowly in silence. It all looked rather beautiful, taking Boris’ breath slightly away. Everything around was calm and quiet, with only the yellowish green light of the plant’s exterior lamps and the low, mechanical rumble of the machines, working tirelessly in the background. _Like us,_ he thought, _tireless cogs working quietly in the dark, not people, just robots; productive, nameless. It all goes on and on..._

Once he was bathed and clothed he made his way to the main offices to see the deputy chief, with whom he had been on the phone earlier. It had not stopped feeling strange to see another man at Dyatlov’s seat, though this one had been much more pleasant to deal with. They’d gotten on rather well, and in many respects, he considered him not just a superior, but a friend. Hanging on that sentiment, he breathed in deeply and knocked on the office door. 

“Comrade Tregub, you wanted to see me?”

The blond-haired man lifted his eyes above the rim of his reading glasses and a thick cloud of cigarette smoke hovering over his desk, acknowledging him. “Ah, Comrade Stolyarchuk. It’s good to see you. Please have a seat.” His open palm gestured towards an orange plastic chair in front. 

“Thank you, sir,” Boris replied, taking the offered seat, a bit stiffly.

“I suppose you already know what I wanted to see you about,” Tregub said, his breath full of smoke. 

“The news about Gorbachev, I assume, sir.” 

“Ah. Well, there’s that too. That was quite a surprise, though not entirely. We’ve all been hearing about Yeltsin’s deals for a while now. This was just a matter of time,” Tregub said, leaning back in his chair with his hands behind his head, pensive. His cigarette sat idly on the ashtray, consuming itself.

Boris eyed the cigarette, anxious for one. “I suppose. But it still comes as quite a shock. We’re essentially nationless now.” 

“Not really, but we’ll see how that goes. But as far as the plant is concerned, it’s business as usual. We still have quotas to meet. Regardless of where we belong now, people still need power in their homes, right? Want one?” Tregub offered him a smoke, noticing Stolyarchuk’s hand fidgeting, recognising the urge. 

“Yes sir,” Boris replied, answering both questions and leaning forward to take the cigarette. “So, I’m not out of a job, then?”

“What? Goodness, no! We need you now more than ever, comrade. Especially since Akimov and Toptunov are gone.” 

Boris looked down at first, then to the side to conceal his face, but the tiny office left little room or opportunity to hide. It had not stopped being unbearable, the mention of their names, around the plant and elsewhere. Everybody knew they were gone, though the stories about how it happened differed here and there in the places that didn’t matter. All he had cared about was that he hadn’t known back then that would be the last time he’d see them.

Tregub looked at him, slightly abashed. “I’m sorry. I must have hit a nerve. You were close to them, weren’t you?”

Boris swallowed. “Yes... Leonid Toptunov was my friend. I was close to Sasha Akimov too.” He tried to compose himself, but welling tears betrayed him yet again. “Excuse me,” he apologised, trying to sniffle them away. 

Tregub offered him a rough brown paper napkin from somewhere deep in one of his desk’s drawers. “It’s alright. You must miss them a lot. Though I’m sure they’re better off where they are now, right?”

Boris looked up. “Sir?”

“You know, I’m not too familiar with some of the details. What happened in the control room that night?” Tregub asked, leaning forward on his elbows. His sky blue eyes looked genuinely interested. Boris tensed up, feeling slightly cajoled into giving an account he’d rather forget. Nevertheless, there he was, reliving it so vividly that he found himself easily slipping into the story, painted in the full technicolour of his memory. 

* * *

He knew they were in trouble the instant he saw Dyatlov’s binder fly out of his hands straight at Kirschenbaum, missing him by mere centimetres. Boris felt the sweat on his forehead begin to soak through the brim of his hat. He was still fairly disoriented; just a few hours earlier, he and the boys had been out celebrating his engagement. What he thought had been one of the happiest days of his life was slowly unraveling into a nightmare. Igor bent to pick up the book, leaving a wide angle from which Boris could see panic making his shoulders shake. He strode quickly towards him; his protective instinct triggered yet again, wanting to shield him somehow; from view or any other of Dyatlov’s crazy fits. 

Just as he turned his gaze back to the room he noticed Leonid Toptunov watching everything with an expression on his face Boris had never seen before. It was far more chilling than Dyatlov’s rage, for some reason. 

“Toptunov. Reduce power to seven hundred.” Dyatlov barked the order without even looking at Leonid. He must have assumed Toptunov would comply expediently, not needing to waste words on further explanation. Any other course of action by Leonid simply did not enter his mind. 

But instead of obeying, Leonid just stood still. 

“Toptunov, what are you doing? Are you fucking deaf? I said-”

“No.” 

The entire room came to a standstill. Gasps were swallowed and breaths were held as all pairs of eyes locked on to the scene forming. Dyatlov stood there, silenced by his own outrage, processing Leonid’s disobedience, albeit clearly struggling. He was rarely opposed and likely never had been publicly. 

“We haven’t been briefed properly. This is against regulation.” Leonid spoke first. His voice sounded grave and stern in the thick of the room’s tension. Boris glanced at him and thought he looked older. “We don’t understand the instructions, there is missing information and-”

“Akimov, remove this idiot, but first, reduce the power. Come to administration later to sign the dismissal papers of this moron once you’re done,” Dyatlov spat back, again not looking at Leonid, but now directing all his rage towards Sasha. The whole room unfroze abruptly and people restarted moving. Then Leonid spoke again. 

“No need. I quit.” 

Before Dyatlov could react or retaliate, Leonid was walking out of the control room. Boris flinched a little when he closed the door, expecting a slam, but Leonid clicked it shut quietly. Gently, almost. 

And just like that, Leonid Toptunov was gone. 

“Comrade.. Sir, he’s young…” 

As soon as Toptunov was out the door, Akimov started to plead on his behalf, making anxious circles around Dyatlov. “Please let me talk to hi-”

“No. He’s done. You finish lowering the power, and then-”

“But sir,” Akimov insisted, daring the interjection. “Toptunov is correct in saying we are not qualified to run this test at this moment. We only just found out about it, and it’s the end of our week. At least give us the weekend to review.” 

Dyatlov did not take Akimov’s interruption well, nor his subtle yet obvious defiance. “I think you know that I can make your life a living nightmare. I can see to it that, like your dear mentee, you do not work anywhere else again. Now, run the test, or I’ll get Tregub to replace you. He’s better than you anyways.” 

“Sir, I-”

The phone interrupted both of them. Boris exhaled in relief; who knows how far the spat would have gone had it continued. Dyatlov looked absolutely vexed when Akimov failed to answer after the third ring. In his mind, Akimov was more akin to a well-trained servant than a work colleague. 

“Well? What are you waiting for, you fat moron? Go get it!” Dyatlov barked, startling Akimov into motion. Sasha picked up the receiver with a trembling hand and answered. 

“... Hello?”

Dyatlov puffed his cigarette furiously. A few beats later, Akimov was nudging the deputy chief again, earning yet another scowl from the man. “It’s for you, Comrade Dyatlov,” Sasha gulped, handing him the earpiece. “The Director Bryukhanov.”

While Dyatlov was on the phone and Akimov paced nervously in his orbit, Boris told Igor to lay low by the dials and went outside. He was hoping to catch Leonid before he disappeared down the end of the lengthy deaerator corridor, and he did. He wasn’t far; Leonid hung around by the part overlooking the roof of the reactor, looking up instead of down, apparently observing something in the sky.

“Lenya! Lenya, hold on!” Boris cried, running after him. Leonid turned around, slightly startled, but not that surprised.

Boris rested his hands over his knees once he caught up and wheezed a few breaths out, painfully. Smoking was really taking its toll. “Lenya, what are you doing? Are you crazy?” he gasped out. 

“No. Actually, I feel quite clear-headed, to be honest,” Leonid replied with a side-glance. He even sounded a little smug. _Toptunov, you little shit!_ Boris fumed inwardly. 

“I thought this was your dream. What you worked for your whole life! You’re just going to throw it away now?” He told him, rather harshly, feeling irritation amass in his fists. 

Leonid sighed and turned, finally bothered to face him. He appeared more tired than upset, frankly. Boris had been right; he did look older somehow, as if he had aged ten years in ten minutes. “It is... it still is, but I can’t do it like this,” he said, haggardly. “I can’t work with men like Dyatlov always crushing me into the ground. I’m tired of people thinking I’m a punching bag, a doll to be played with or the perennial butt of a joke. All people do is laugh and gawk at me, tell me what to do... what to be... not be…” 

He trailed off languidly and went back to stargazing, making Boris curious to look as well. Resting his hands upon the railing he raised his eyes up at the starry night above them, forgetting momentarily the chain of momentous events that had transpired that evening. 

“It doesn’t matter what I try, I will always be the odd one out. I don’t get to be me, anywhere,” Leonid murmured softly, ending his diatribe. It pushed some obscure button in Boris, causing the bubbling reservoir of anger to erupt suddenly. 

— You think _I_ do? You think it’s easy for me, being here, having to deal with the same shit? It’s not just you, Lenya! The whole world is like that! It will crush you unless you find a way to live in it, even if you have to hide or cut parts of yourself to fit.” Boris lunged towards Leonid, who half-stepped back instinctively expecting some sort of blow. All he felt were Boris’ hands on his shoulders, shaking him slightly to make him listen. 

“You think I’m lucky, but no. Even I have to pretend. There’s so many things I wish I could do, that I know I will never do, because of… the things I like and where we live... but you learn how to make peace with that and-”

“I can’t do that. It’s... different for me,” Leonid refuted, looking away sullen. 

“Because you’re in love with Sasha?” Boris whispered. 

Leonid’s eyes widened, looking glassy and wet. “Boris... I’m sorry I lied to you. I don’t have a girlfriend named Sasha, actually-”

“Sasha Akimov, I meant.”

The sound of footsteps and heavy breathing startled them. “Good evening comrades,” greeted the man rushing past them in the corridor. Boris and Leonid had barely a chance to reply, waving hello to the back of the man’s blond head as he sped down the hall towards the control room. Without a way to know if the comrade had caught wind of any part of their perilous conversation, they stood in strained silence for a while. At last, Leonid decided for truth, foregoing the chance to use the interruption as diversion. 

“You knew?”

“Like you said, you can’t do it. You’re just awful at faking, Toptunov.” 

“Are you.... repulsed? Are you going to-”

“Report you? No. And no to the first question, as well.” Boris’ answer caused Leonid’s steely mask to finally fall. His shoulders, as well as his head dropped, as if weighing a ton. Boris fumbled with his pocket for his cigarette pack and a light and continued. “Though I can’t say I understand it. They say they invented it in capitalistic countries in the West or something, but I think... it’s just how some people are. Part of nature.” 

He lit the smoke, offering Leonid one with a smile but the younger man declined with a head shake. Boris shrugged after taking a long drag. The cigarette shook in his jittery fingers and his mouth twitched. “Look, I don’t know how that works, but all I do know is that you’re my friend, Lenya. Please don’t do this. Don’t go.” 

“Boris…”

“I’m begging you, Leonid,” Boris beseeched, almost weeping.

The shuffle of another pair of feet approaching disrupted the heated exchange. The pace was slower and more deliberate; the man was walking up to them, instead of past them. Boris turned around, on the verge of panic, but it was Akimov, pulling anxiously at his hat in his hands, overflowing with apprehension. 

“It’s OK Sasha. He knows,” Leonid said, walking over to him. 

“You.. told him?” Sasha stuttered and blinked, shocked. 

“No,” Boris answered. “I guessed, but Leonid just confirmed it. Sasha, what’s going on?” Boris rolled the question over Sasha’s glare at the word ‘confirmed,’ knowing his absence from the control room to mean something other than just curiosity.

Sasha cleared his throat before diving into the explanation. “The test has been cancelled. That was Director Bryukhanov on the phone, telling Dyatlov to not go through with it. Apparently, he’d just gotten a call from Kiev, asking him to cancel on account of some important event for Party officials visiting from Moscow... the Deputy Chairman of the Council Of Ministers demanded it, it seems, so it’s a big order.”

He coughed, but went on. “It seems they wanted the spare power in the capital for the weekend. They say we can try again after the May Parade, when factory quotas for the month are already filled and no extra power needed elsewhere.” 

Boris raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Well, that’s odd. Bryukhanov is probably happy to not have to mind quotas for the month, but Dyatlov must be fuming. He wanted to humiliate Leonid,” he mused, turning to him. “Eh, Lenya, isn’t that great news? You can stay and-”

“Actually…” Sasha interjected, lowering his eyes. “Dyatlov has made up his mind about Leonid. He... wants Toptunov to go. Immediately.” 

Leonid shrugged. “I don’t care. I’m tired of his shit anyways.” 

“And, I also resigned as well,” Sasha added. 

Leonid and Boris both turned to him in shock. “You did what?”

Sasha adjusted his glasses, the way he often did whenever he wanted to hide. “I tried to reason with Dyatlov, but he is far too upset. He’s not used to having people refuse him. He was adamant. He called in Tregub just now, completely ignoring Bryukhanov’s orders, saying if we complete the test tonight, it would earn him and the director immense acclaim with the higher-ups currently in Kiev; perhaps a desk job before the year’s end.”

“We did see the guy walk past just now…” Leonid muttered, recalling the blond man hurrying past them some minutes ago. 

Boris pinched his brow. “That is a terrible idea. They’ll take it as defiance, instead of efficacy. He’s going to attempt the test anyways?”

Sasha shook his head. “Tregub managed to talk him out of it. But,” he paused with a sigh, meeting Leonid’s eyes before adding, “... in order to.. shield Lenya from Dyatlov’s wrath, I took full responsibility and stepped down from my role. This way, he won’t go after Lenya and he can get work somewhere else. Tregub will be changing to night shift, stepping in for me as foreman from now on.”

Leonid and Boris stood absolutely appalled as Akimov delivered the dispiriting news. “Sasha... Sasha, why did you do that? No, no…” Leonid bewailed, losing his hard edge, letting it melt into heavy and large tears that spilled abundantly over his chest, dampening the always-too-large-for-him white canvas uniform. 

Sasha sighed and opened up his arms to receive Leonid in a hug, allowing the gesture to be freely observed by Boris. Though he felt somewhat detached as he witnessed their kind intimacy unravel before him, he noted with curiosity and surprise that it did not feel strange. It seemed rather ordinary, quite domestic even. He felt a small smile sneak upon his face, grateful and a little humbled that they would allow him to be part of something so personal to them. 

“It’s OK, Lenya,” Sasha said, patting Leonid’s back. “We will have to move, but we’ll figure something out. At least nobody will be going after us.” 

_What’s this?_ Boris’ attention zeroed in at the mention of departure. “But wait, Sasha, what are you saying? You’re leaving too? You and Lenya are both leaving? Tonight?”

“It looks like it, yes,” Sasha replied, matter-of-factly. 

“Where will you go?” 

Sasha and Leonid looked at each other. “West.” 

“West? America?”

Sasha glanced at Leonid, then back at Boris, before answering. “We... have talked about it before. Mostly hypothetically, but if the need ever arose, we decided we’d try to make it to England.” 

“London,” Leonid pointed out. “See the Big Ben, you know. Amongst other things.”

Boris couldn’t believe his ears. “But why? Lenya, Sasha!” He tried his best to contain his frustration, yelling through whispering. “Please, guys, please don’t go please... don’t leave me here alone…” he found himself pleading, letting his head fall in defeat, exhausted.

When he looked up, Sasha and Leonid were huddled around him, encircling him with their bodies. Leonid whispered, smiling sadly. “You’re not alone, Borja. You know why? Because you’ll have a nice big wedding, a lovely wife and then a big family, and you’ll be surrounded by all our friends, always. Borja, you’ll have the life we can never have. Have fun with it.” 

“For us,” Sasha added, smiling as well. 

There was nothing else to be said. He let go, too tired to fight it all back anymore. He felt their warm hands on his back, heaving up and down with his sobs, which, for a moment, he thought would never stop. After some time, not sure how long, he heard Sasha tell Leonid that they better get a move on because they had to stop at each house to decide what to pack before it got too late and then it was cold where their hands had been and the sounds of footsteps faded into the distance while all he could do was continue to hold on to the railing to keep himself from crumbling further. 

Before their footsteps died down, he yelled, desperately. “Lenya! You know that song? The one I like, by that German band?” His voice echoed loudly in the empty and stark fluorescent white corridor.

“Yeah? What about it?” Lenya asked, shouting back from the other end. 

Boris cupped his hands, so he’d hear it well. “When you get there... write it back to me. The ‘goons’ won’t know what the point is. But I’ll know. That you’re OK.” 

“I promise!” Lenya yelled back, waving. They were almost at the end of the corridor. 

“Lenya…” Boris tried to shout again, but his voice broke. He couldn’t say his name anymore, it hurt too much. 

“Borja, thank you! For everything!” He heard Leonid yell back, before he and Sasha turned the corner, and were gone. 

* * *

Naturally, he left out the more personal parts of the conversation with Leonid and Sasha, but the rest of the story was well-known fact for Tregub himself. After all, it had been he who dealt directly with the aftermath of the test that was never carried out. Everyone at the plant knew that Yuri Tregub was in Dyatlov’s good graces (which was probably why Dyatlov had been itching for an excuse all along to bring him in as Akimov’s replacement - he got along with him and simply just liked him better). However, Tregub was not one to dumbly follow orders, especially if he knew them to be dangerous or wrong. After the call had come in, he knew, like everyone else, that it was just not possible to conclude the test that evening; that with their nonexistent training and the capital needing the energy output. He had always been able to curb Dyatlov’s bloodthirst effectively and managed to convince the deputy chief to put it off until a new, “more competent” shift crew could be arranged (“with more experienced technicians, comrade, who are better appreciative to your particular teaching methods”). The test was thus successfully completed just two days later by Sitnikov’s more experienced men, earning Dyatlov, and by extension Director Bryukhanov great commendations and promotions by the Party. 

Tregub’s brilliant diplomatic talent soon earned him Akimov’s post and he became Stolyarchuk’s direct supervisor for the next couple of years until Dyatlov was (at last!) promoted to Director of the entire complex, finally getting that desk job he’d been after for so long, just as Bryukhanov stepped down to enjoy a much deserved retirement in his dacha just outside Kiev. After that, Tregub became the natural choice for Dyatlov’s old post as deputy chief. Although it made his job twice as exhausting, having to deal with administration as well as supervise the midnight shift of Reactor 4, Boris had never seen him complain in the year and a half he had been at both tasks. He wondered sometimes, what would have happened if Akimov and Toptunov had stayed on and carried out Dyatlov’s test, noting with sadness that Akimov would have likely capitulated to Dyatlov’s overbearing personality despite his better judgement. Perhaps Comrade Tregub averted a disaster and they’d never know it. 

Boris sat back in the uncomfortable chair and waited for the man to give comment on the tale he had just told, but the deputy chief remained as speechless then as during the anecdote. He was known to be a friendly, but rather stoic man; generous but pragmatic. Boris searched his eyes for some hint of a reaction but the man just stared vacantly out the window. It was hard to tell if he had been moved, though there was a glimmer in his eyes that suggested something had stirred in him, deep. 

“They resigned? On the spot?” the man spoke at last, leaving his eyes on the dance of the snowflakes behind the glass.

Boris huffed, relieved. “I begged Leonid not to, but he was determined. They both were. If only they had waited…” He cut his own nonsense off. If only they had waited for what? Five more years? Not knowing if it would be five, or ten or twenty? All the while risking exposure and most likely, imprisonment? No... they did the right thing in leaving when they did and he knew it. 

“I see. Do you know where they are now?” Tregub braided his fingers together and watched him carefully. Boris swallowed hard, feeling his mouth go dry. 

“No sir.” He lied. Sort of. He’d gotten word of their stay in Warsaw, their stop in Berlin, and then, weeks later, a carefully cryptic telegram from Köln. For the past couple of years, Sasha and Lenya had been skulking further and further west, but he lost track of them after they crossed beyond West Germany. Since then, he’d been left fearing their interception by the KGB somewhere, anywhere. He’d have no way of knowing in any case. Dyatlov talked about them, from time to time; awful things. He’d kept the grudge for years. There’d be no point in coming back. Dyatlov would see to it that they not be employed anywhere or worse, and now, as Director of the entire complex, the threat held heavier weight.

Boris shifted in the seat, trying to appear inconspicuous. “I wish I knew where they were as well,” he chose to say at last. In all honesty, he really did. 

The answer seemed to suffice for the deputy chief. “It must be hard for them out there, without jobs or connections. They were good workers.” 

“They still are, sir.” 

After a couple of beats of uncomfortable silence, Tregub finally cleared his throat. “I’m sorry for all the questions, Comrade Stolyarchuk,” he said, unhooking his fingers and lifting his hands slightly, as if pleading a truce. “Although I was genuinely curious to know about the whereabouts of two of our most brilliant engineers, that’s not why I asked you to my office tonight.” 

Boris cocked his head in curiosity, but his body was still stiffly defensive. Tregub smiled, trying to coax him to relax. “I wanted to speak to you about two things, mainly. The first one is a promotion.” 

Stolyarchuk’s eyes widened in surprise. “Really, sir?” 

“Yes. I’d like to promote you to supervisor of the midnight shift of Reactor No. 4.” 

“Akimov’s old job?”

“Would that be alright?” 

“I’d be honoured sir. Thank you.” 

Boris stood up to shake Tregub’s hand, feeling able to smile genuinely for the first time that evening. He certainly hadn’t expected it at all. They both sat back down after the formality and Tregub continued to explain. “Comrade Director Dyatlov has spoken very highly of you, you know. He’s mentioned your name amongst recommendations for seats in the State Nuclear Regulatory Inspectorate. We don’t know yet how upcoming restructuring will affect the organisation but I believe you can look forward to playing an influential role in the future of the nuclear power industry in our newly independent country.”

“Sir, I.. I don’t know what to say. Thank y-”

“Don’t thank me quite just yet!” Tregub laughed, running a hand through his spiky blond hair. “You will be quite busy; the post does involve a lot of paperwork. You’ll have to endure it, like Akimov and I did. Which brings me to the second reason for your presence here tonight: I’d like you to oversee a new trainee, Aleksandr Korol. He’s been assigned to work here and apparently used to be Toptunov’s close friend in university. You are to train him for the SIUR senior reactor control position and have him undergo evaluation in the spring.” 

Boris swallowed something bittersweet and felt tears coming on again. Akimov and Toptunov’s absences were being filled, with utilitarian expediency. It was to be expected, naturally, but... oh well, it _had_ been five years already. How long had he been hoping for them to leave the outlines of their existence intact? Everyone was moving on, whether he liked it or not.

Though he initially disliked and dreaded the assignment, thinking that having a friend of Leonid’s around would only make the emotional wound bleed more profusely, he quickly picked up on a surreptitious advantage. If Korol is close to Toptunov he may perhaps have a better idea of their whereabouts. Yes, it was good to have him around, Boris decided. Maybe together they can figure out a way to contact Leonid and-

“It’s a lot of responsibility. Do you think you can handle it?” Tregub warned, interrupting his plotting. 

“Yes sir. You can count on me.”

Tregub nodded and stood up, indicating the conclusion of the meeting. Boris rose as well and began to turn to leave, but Tregub lifted up his right hand; he was not yet dismissed. “One more thing, comrade. There is the matter of your _pivnaya_ request. The overseas travel voucher.” 

“Oh.” Stolyarchuk blinked. Oh right, the trip he had been wanting to make. “Was I rejected?”

“No. Well, actually, yes…” Tregub ran his hand down his head to his neck, with a sheepish smile. “What I mean to say is that, well, I don’t think you’ll need one anymore.” 

“You’re free to go, comrade,” Tregub clarified, noting that his (now) night shift supervisor stood staring blankly at back at him, not quite fully processing the information. “You can travel where you want, when you want. No need to ask for permission slips anymore... Just give me a heads up and I’ll write in your request for the days off.” 

Too many changes in a single night, and Boris had never been good with change. He had always been slow at it, favouring the tried and true. But change was now upon him and he had no other choice but to adapt and accept. He nodded in acknowledgment and shook Tregub’s hand once again.

“Have a good night, Boris Vasilyevich,” Tregub said, finally dismissing him. 

“Sir,” Boris replied with a good amount of fabricated pep and walked out the door, closing it behind him with deference. 

* * *

He had managed to hold it off until the end of the shift, but as soon as he was past the gates, the flood of tears spilled freely and he sobbed, as hard if not harder than he had on his way in. He had the wrong footwear on for the inches of snow that had piled on during the night and so trudged through a thick, powdery blanket on his commute back. His hot tears pierced the smooth white surface like bullets.

By the time he caught a glimpse of his block his socks were completely soaked through and his gloves and scarf were wet with snot and sweat. His hair was mussed up and stuck to his face but he couldn’t care less. The last steps up to the apartment felt the hardest. He thought about how he should be happy, at least grateful, and that he was bringing home some rather good news but all he felt was the chill of winter, and not much more.

He left a trail of dirty and wet clothes on the floor on his way to the bedroom, without further concern. Dasha would get upset, surely, but she’d forgive him, especially when she found out about his promotion. He made a mental note to apologise later and began to tiptoe as soon as he neared the bedroom door, so as to not wake her. 

But she was sitting up on her side of the bed, still in the clothes she had during dinner, with a book in her hands that she clearly hadn’t been reading at all. She lit up upon seeing him but Boris noticed the dark circles underneath her eyes more than her smile. 

“Dasha? Good grief, you’re still awake?”

She was on him as soon as he sat on the bed. He could feel how tired she was, there in his arms, as they hugged. Dasha melted into the embrace, as if finally allowed to release heavy stones she’d been carrying all night. 

“I couldn’t sleep. I was too worried. About you, us, everything,” she said softly into his neck as he held her. “It’s alright, nothing happened,” he whispered back. “It's the same as ever here in Pripyat. Nothing has changed.” 

She lifted her face, a bit more relaxed. “Oh thank goodness! I thought we’d have to move. I even called my mom. She was already up and about, worried sick. Everyone is.” 

“I know,” Boris said as he began to rid himself of his heavy wool jumper. “But I have good news. I got promoted at work. We’ll be doing better now.” 

“That’s wonderful!” She chirped, a bit loudly and catching herself, remembering the sleeping toddler in the crib a few meters away. “That’s wonderful,” she repeated a little softer, giving Boris the glass of water that was on her night table, as well as a small, chaste kiss. 

_I really need you now Dasha_ , he thought, feeling the tingle of desire ignite inside him. Despite his exhaustion, he desperately craved melding into her and, for a few, sweet moments, forget everything and everyone in the world. But there was the baby, and work, and her worry, and their lives, and the dawning reality that refused to be denied. “Come on, lay down with me for a while. It’s been a crazy night,” he sighed, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes harshly. He placed them and the water on his nightstand so he wouldn’t crush them should he snooze off quickly.

“Oh, don’t put the water there,” Dasha warned suddenly. 

“Why?”

“You’ll get it wet. It came in this afternoon, in the mail, but I forgot to give it to you earlier,” she shuffled on top of him to grab at a piece of paper from underneath the glass. She picked it up and shook a few droplets of condensation away before handing it to him.

Boris looked at it quickly. A photograph? No, a postcard... of The Big Ben, in London. The picture was adorned with a Christmas motif, evidently foreign. Behind it, a verse of his favourite song, scribbled in the indubitable chicken scratch of Leonid Toptunov. 

_//_

_The world is closing in_

_Did you ever think_

_That we could be so close, like brothers_

_The future's in the air_

_I can feel it everywhere_

_Blowing with the winds of change_

_//_

_Happy Christmas, Borja. We miss you._ (This part was in Sasha’s handwriting).

His tears smudged the blue fountain pen ink of the words.

Dasha blinked, curious and concerned. “What’s wrong?”

“Dasha... remember that trip I told you about? That I wanted to do? I think I’ll be going soon, for a few days... visit some old friends of mine…”

  
  


\-- end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: “Winds of Change” by Scorpions.  
> YT link: https://youtu.be/n4RjJKxsamQ
> 
> — “Winds of Change” by Scorpions, German power-rock band, was released in January of 1991, foreshadowing the collapse of the Soviet Union in December of that same year. Regarding the song: “It was released as the album's third single in January 1991 and became a worldwide hit, just after the failed coup that would eventually lead to the collapse of the Soviet Union.” Furthermore, “The lyrics celebrate glasnost in the Soviet Union, the end of the Cold War, and speaks of hope at a time when tense conditions had arisen due to the fall of Communist-run governments among Eastern Bloc nations beginning in 1989.” “The band presented a gold record and $70,000 of royalties from the single to Mikhail Gorbachev in 1991.“ (source: https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wind_of_Change_(Scorpions_song))
> 
> — Gorbachev resigned as head of the USSR on December 25th, 1991. He resigned on live TV, broadcast across the entire USSR. The Soviet Union officially ceased to exist on December 31st, 1991. Boris Yeltsin became president of Russia, with Leonid Kravchuk as president of Ukraine. Video used for the transcript in the fic: https://youtu.be/4lPjMh1zpEo
> 
> — Akimov’s and Toptunov’s escape from the USSR was inspired in part by a video of two gay Russian men who wanted to marry but were prevented from doing so in modern-day Russia. The struggle for LGBTQ+ rights continues to this very day in Russia. Video: https://youtu.be/XiyWnflZmwg
> 
> — Thank you so much for reading to the end. Writing this fic was a huge personal ride for me. I had to overcome a lot of personal stuff to get to the end, but here we are. Thanks to all who gave me support: @baby-skarsgard on Tumblr (you are so amazing! Thank you for your support), @az-5-elinkgrad (thank you so much for your beautiful enthusiasm!), @kriegskrieg (I love talking ships with you in our mother language!), @awariasuit (talking toptumov with you was so much fun! Thanks), @akimfu on Tumblr and Luna92 here, you guys are amazing :) And many, many more which makes me feel so lucky. I hope you like how this ended, and please let me know what you think in the comments. 
> 
> \-- [August 2020] - A huge thanks to the people that messaged me asking for this fic back. I was really touched that so many people cared about it, when I was under a different impression. I'm very, very grateful. It was good to re-edit this and repost it. I hope more people continue to enjoy it. Please let me know in the comments if you do 💛
> 
> — If you like what I write, and you happen to be an anime fan as well (namely, a JJBA fan), feel free to check out my work in that fandom. I will be going back to writing JoJo fics for a while, until the bug of a new fandom bites me, and it’s down that hole again...
> 
> — Thank you so much for reading! Many, many hugs 💛

**Author's Note:**

> It’s rather nice to edit this and make it flow better. I hope everyone continues to enjoy this. Feel free to leave your thoughts in the comments 💛


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